


Pallas's Rosefinch

by elbowsinsidethedoor



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-08-08 09:07:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 55,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7751629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elbowsinsidethedoor/pseuds/elbowsinsidethedoor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harold needs John. John needs Harold. And that's the way I like it!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In this Alpha/Beta/Omega AU the male omegas have small vaginal openings in the space between the testicles and anus and can become pregnant. In general appearance omegas exhibit a range of secondary sexual characteristics between male and female and are generally identified as male or female depending upon which predominate. I've also included the bonding gland at the juncture of neck and shoulder that I read of in JinkyO's excellent story "The Problem With Children."
> 
> There are some power dynamic elements in the social structure with alphas at the top of the pile.

Bone deep bruises marked the places where John's vest had absorbed Kara's gunshots. Sheer will propelled him beyond of the worst of the blast radius but he was still thrown and scraped raw where he landed rough amid the explosion debris. John's escape led him through a wasteland where food and water were hard to come by. He battled hunger and thirst as he struggled to put the nightmare of Ordos behind him. He slept in daylight and moved by night, always heading east toward the bigger cities where he could lose himself more easily. His ultimate goal was Beijing where he had caches hidden that even his partner and handlers knew nothing about. His partner. His handlers. Years of service had slowly separated him from the world of light. Now even the shadows had turned their backs on him.

Keeping close but not visible to major roadways, his third night on foot brought him into a hilly region where the vegetation was lush and the night air was cold. With darkness growing thin he discovered a camping area off a secondary road. There he found a functioning spigot. He rehydrated slowly, carefully pacing his intake of the ice cold water to keep from cramping, a cautious eye on the half dozen RVs parked in a rough semi-circle close by. All of them had the look of shiny new rentals. When he'd drunk his fill he hid as well as he could in a thicket of tall grasses and shrubs, well away from the caravan of campers.

 

***

In the tiny bathroom of his RV Harold Finch blotted the few drops of moisture seeping from the small puckered slit behind his balls and knew it was time to change the tampon. He was trying to keep touching to a minimum, having learned the night before that touching, while it felt … really good, only seemed to create an urge for more. He was two days from Beijing and access to hormone suppressants.

Of all the ordeals he thought he'd face on this trip, going into heat hadn't even made the list. His implant was clearly failing.

The little string hanging out of his body was slippery, he grasped it and pulled slowly, the slide of it made him shudder, muscles clutching at the small plug-like object as he drew it out. It was soaked with his night's flow. He bagged it securely and opened a fresh one, guiltily looking forward to even this modest insertion.

He had never faced a cycle without the aid of the drugs, the hormone regulation of an implant. He'd heard stories but never known anyone who had. Like all omegas, he'd been registered and regulated since birth. In the US it was more rare to find an unregulated omega than an unvaccinated child in public school.

He would have to explain himself somehow to his traveling companions, especially Dr Groves and Dr Tao. Among the professional ornithologists on this side trip, they had been the most friendly to him. He'd have to give them a reason for needing to head back to the city immediately.

He hadn't been able to resist joining this excursion to search for Guldenstadt's Redstart, Pallas's Rosefinch, and the rarer Asian Rosy Finch; all to be found in the Lingshan region. A folly on his part to seek out his namesake birds, but he'd also wanted to get away from the city. He felt very grateful now that he had rented his own vehicle.

The China Ornithological Society had extended an invitation to him as an "Honored Amateur" to their international conference in Beijing. Most honored, he thought, for his generous contributions to the society's coffers. It had sounded more exciting than the actual conference turned out to be. Beijing was a fascinating city, and the Great Wall Sheraton a congenial enough setting, but Harold discovered his status as an amateur didn't inspire much respect. He, in turn, found the scientists less interesting and less companionable than amateur enthusiasts like himself. And there was another unpleasantness, a more disturbing lack of respect he was experiencing.

He liked to believe that disdain and mistreatment of omegas was a thing of the past. He tried to live his life in accordance with that belief though he was aware that a subtle sexism persisted, even among his contemporaries. He didn't allow it to limit him. Here, he was sorry to discover in this mix of international scientists, the attitudes of the past were still very much in evidence, much more so than he'd ever been exposed to. It shocked him that at a professional gathering he'd been subject to everything from outright snubbing to rude stares and lewd comments, as well as some suggestive behavior.

Ornithology was an overwhelmingly beta profession though it dawned on him now that both Drs Groves and Tao were among the few alphas he'd met.

Now he wondered if they could scent his phase beginning. Was this the reason they'd been so attentive and thoughtful, seeking him out, the dinner invitations and protective attention? Both were bonded, he knew from casual conversation, both married to beta females. Did that make them safe? He realized, with some dismay, how little he actually understood about his own body and the implications of what was happening to it.

It had been two days since he'd begun to notice the symptoms. A little sensitivity. His face looked more plump to him in the mirror, his lips a little swollen. A day since he'd accepted the reality of what was happening. Stirrings inside, longings, and the little slit in his flesh, normally an un-noticed seam, had opened, the flesh to either side of it puffy, swollen.

He'd stopped at a roadside store in search of over the counter hormone patches and had to settle for feminine hygiene products to cope with the moisture his body was producing. He was wary of encountering an un-bonded alpha but fairly certain his fears about this were exaggerated. The wild-eyed rutting alphas of Hollywood movies, he told himself, were probably about as common as the ax murderers portrayed in horror films.

What an ill-fated trip. He'd traveled such a long way and had so little to show for it. He needed to get back to Beijing as quickly as possible but he felt determined to spend at least an hour or so stretching his legs before getting back on the highway, hoping for a sighting. He filled his thermos with tea, packed up some supplies and headed out into the cool morning air at sunrise, before any one else was stirring.

 

***

 

John dreamt he was biting into a fruit he couldn't name, the flavor was fresh and sweet, brimming with life, the juice filling his mouth. His eyes opened and he squinted into the rising sun, confused. Then a face was hovering over him, a sweet omega face, close enough to touch and he thought he might still be dreaming. A stream of well-being muted every ache in his body as he breathed deep and potent pheromones washed through his system.

"Are you hurt?" A soft voice. American.

"Are you real?" His own voice was a rough whisper that took some effort as he sought moisture in his mouth. Smooth skin, flushing pink at his cheekbones. Big blue eyes behind round wire rims. An omega … hiding something precious between its legs.

His eyes focused on the moist-looking mouth.

John had been trained and conditioned to resist an omega in heat even though the use of them in espionage had all but disappeared. Omegas couldn't be subjected to the kind of manipulation they once had suffered. The modern omega was a protected creature. Even so, John thought, their use would probably have continued if the results hadn't been so unreliable. An omega in full bloom could as easily soothe as torment … a truth to which he could now attest as he stretched, feeling better … everywhere. In training him to resist they'd used a slightly masculine female beta operative, dosed with synthetic hormones. It was nothing like what he was experiencing now. This was … heaven.

"I think you need medical attention," the omega said, frowning, adorably.

I need you, John thought. What he said was, "No. Just … water, food if you have it," as he studied its appearance. The alluring androgyny, more handsome than pretty, small stature, very bundled up in expensive clothing. Cultured voice. Binoculars hung from the neck. Some kind of naturist … bird-watcher? An omega in heat in the Chinese wilderness, watching birds. How could this be real?

He watched him lift off his pack, rising up slightly on his knees as he did. The subtle tension in the movement of the hips, the barest hint that the pelvic muscles were clenching excited John; he imagined the small body naked, rising and falling on him, taking him in, all of him.

John struggled to sit up.

He saw the omega hesitate.

"My name is Harold," he said. "And yours?" He'd opened his thermos and poured the cup full.

"John."

"John, forgive me, but I'm having some … difficulty … and I'm afraid we need to be careful not to touch, you see … " he stopped as if he couldn't find the words.

"I see," John said. "Set the cup in the grass. I won't touch you."

John yearned to feel his skin, to taste his skin, but more than anything, he didn't want to frighten him away. He was pretty sure the omega was dying to be touched … but was shy … the rosy flush in his face, on his neck, the way he seemed to be struggling to sit still; a suggestive outward fold at the crotch of the trousers looked full as if its small cock was distended. John thought for all the evident need, he still might bolt if startled.

He drank down the lukewarm tea and set the empty cup in the grass. Harold refilled it and set it back down near him.

"Are you camped here … to watch birds?" John asked, thinking, calm him first, then … 

"I am, I was, but I have to get back to the city … the difficulty I mentioned." He lay two energy bars in the grass. "It's actually rather urgent. My implant … it's failing."

Fuck. A thousand times, and … don't fuck. Harold wasn't an omega seeking to mate, he was someone experiencing a medical emergency.

"I see," John said, inside he was raging, outside he was carefully controlling his response.

"What about you, John … how did you wind up here?"

"It's … complicated." He picked up one of the bars and tore it open. Was it his imagination or did the little omega shudder. John could see the blue eyes were fixed on the food going into his mouth, lips parted. "Am I eating your breakfast?" he asked him.

"What? No. I'm sorry," Harold said, now adding a blush to his already pink cheeks. He cast his eyes down. "I'm afraid I'm really not myself right now. Forgive me, you're very … "

Very appetizing to someone drowning in a sea of mating hormones, John thought.

"It doesn't matter what I am," he said quietly, exerting control. "I don't think you should travel alone, Harold, and … I also need to get to Beijing."

John wanted him, wanted him badly; wanted to fuck him into oblivion. To bite down, break and bruise the shoulder gland that would bind him. Impregnate him. But he was not going to take advantage of a hapless omega in distress. He couldn't do it. And he was going to make damn sure that no one else did. If it happened that Harold decided … decided that he wanted him, that he needed him … John would be the one there to catch the peach when it fell from the tree. And devour it.

 

***

Harold had stopped on the path, scenting the air. An enticing, indefinable musk, rich and verdant as a healthy garden. It lured him to wander from the trail and led him to the hidden alpha. The man's power could be felt even in his sleeping aura. Harold felt as if the earth itself was offering him a gift. Long, lean body. Good-looking, strong-looking … his scent, so virile. Stop, he told himself, but in the next instant wondered what would happen if he lay down with him, if he pressed his body up against him. Would the alpha want him or disdain him? Harold knelt in the grass to look more closely and felt an ache of need.

Up close he saw the scratches, the scrapes on his face and noted some tears in the clothing. There were hints of smoke under the natural smells, smudges of soot on his skin. A fire, an accident?

The eyes were opening, thick lashes framing blue eyes.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, the first thing he could think of to say to excuse how close he was, to excuse the invasion of privacy.

Harold could hardly form thoughts and yet he heard himself telling the stranger exactly what his problem was. Every second they spoke, interacted, he was on the verge of falling into the man's arms. Think, he told himself, as he heard his own voice. He was speaking rationally and yet the words didn't scratch the surface of his feelings.

This one, please, Harold prayed, addressing some un-named deity, addressing the universe. I want this one.


	2. Chapter 2

The professional charade wasn't much of a challenge for her. The credentials were easily manufactured. An aloof air, in keeping with her alpha status, kept questioners at bay. Leon Tao was an unexpected annoyance, turning up everywhere. Honestly, an alpha that weak was a travesty. Everything about Tao said beta to her … except his stink.

Harold Finch was not an easy person to get close to. She'd tried to infiltrate IFT and found that Finch's partner, Nathan Ingram, ran a very tight ship that excluded alphas from his partner's entire division. Totally illegal, of course, but a lawsuit was hardly the way she wanted to introduce herself. Ingram was guarding his reclusive genius like a hawk. She was surprised he hadn't claimed him, and also surprised he'd let him attend this conference alone.

She guessed, correctly, that Harold Finch wouldn't be able to resist a side trip to Lingshan. She'd thought his sentimental omega sensibilities would be drawn by the lure of the finches, and she was right. What she hadn't bargained for was that so many others would sign on.

Between Leon Tao and the host of unwelcome betas, nothing was going according to plan. She hadn't gotten a moment alone with him.

Root, as she preferred to be called, was considering putting her cards on the table; confessing. She'd hoped to get him talking about himself, get him to discuss his work without having to admit to spying on him. The less he knew about her spying activities, the better. But if it was the only way to get to what she wanted, then maybe …

She'd gotten the briefest glimpse of code that seemed almost alive before his security locked her out. Locked her out so completely that she'd never been able to get another whiff. Even the strength and creativity of his encryption dazzled her. The company she'd been working for at the time, Decima Corp, was heavily invested in the creation of an artificial intelligence, so far without success. Her job had been spying on the research of other firms in similar pursuit. IFT showed the only hint of success. Specifically … Harold Finch had shown the only hint of success. More than a hint. When she discovered that this gifted person was an omega it bothered her.

"An omega," she'd said to her mate, Martine, over dinner. She knew the woman was tiring of her obsession with all things Harold Finch, but she'd had to share this latest revelation. "Who would believe it?"

"Anyone who wasn't an arrogant alpha," Martine had answered, more interested in her steak than the conversation. "The rest of us do have brains, you know."

"Hm, yes. But the omega brain is usually … otherwise occupied." Root had given her mate a certain look and gestured as if rocking a baby in her arms. "As I'd like your lovely brain to be occupied one of these days."

"Keep dreaming, Samantha," she'd said, using the name that signaled she was annoyed. "I agreed to marry you, not to breed."

"Agreements can change."

But Root didn't have much hope that Martine's mind was going to change any time soon.

Why am I thinking about babies, she wondered, dismissing the impulse to tell Harold Finch the truth. Not yet. The end of the conference could work. She'd already manipulated the seating for his flight home and would be sitting next to him. All that up-close-and-personal time would be perfect for a confessional tete a tete. What he'd created, what she believed he had created, was nothing short of revolutionary and she desperately wanted to know more, experience more.

She'd left Decima. A dead end. But here she believed was life. Maybe it took an omega to birth the first true artificial intelligence. With that thought in mind she decided the hour was civilized enough to knock on the door of his little trailer. She'd offer to brew him a cup of tea. She'd already noted and obtained the type he preferred. Too bad he was such a shy thing. Shy, but really very appealing, she thought, even though her taste ran to females. Pregnant, Finch would look very feminine indeed, she imagined; smooth and plumped in all the right places. She pictured him nursing a pup, her pup. Extremely appealing. Of course, so was Martine. Refusal to breed could be grounds for dissolving their bond. Not that she wanted to give up Martine, but Harold Finch might be worth the sacrifice.

Stepping out into the bright sun she discovered that Harold and his RV were … gone. There was a note taped to her door. The scent coming off the paper was tantalizing. She was annoyed to see he'd pulled up stakes but so captivated by the fragrance of the note that it took her a moment, holding it under her nose to realize what she was inhaling. She'd never encountered the pure, natural essence generated by an unclaimed omega in heat but the effects made it unmistakable. Martine's scent for her was deep red, luscious. This scent was the pink of wet sea shells, the blush of a peach that carried the taste of its juice, alive … clinging to the note, to the envelope, Root now knew exactly why she'd been thinking about babies and Harold Finch for the last half hour. This paper, like some primitive charm taped to her door, had been potent enough to bend her thoughts.

Dr Groves,

Apologies for my sudden departure. A personal matter has made it imperative for me to return to Beijing. Thank you (and please extend my gratitude and apologies to Dr Tao) for inviting me to join this expedition and for your many kindnesses.

sincerely,  
Harold Finch

 

***

 

Harold took the first shift of driving.

"I need something to do and I believe I interrupted your sleep, so … please."

It was calming to be occupied by the road, knowing the alpha was there, unseen, asleep in his bed. Clearly the man had fallen on some rough circumstances. Harold had no inkling of what they were. He only knew he wanted to ease any pain, offer any comfort that was needed.

Physically it helped to be engaged in a steady activity. The longing was centered in his lower belly, a pleasurable ache. Strange to know that this was a natural state for his body. If not for the failed implant, he thought, he might have lived his entire life without feeling this. He supposed if he'd sought a mate, he'd have experienced this within the marriage bond.

Once upon a time, alphas drawn to omegas in heat had fought, had preened and displayed themselves until the omega chose a mate. The omega couldn't control its cycle but could choose its mate. This was a mythic past, relegated to short mentions in modern history texts. Harold thought about Nathan and the reversal of modern matrimony. Alphas with many choices. As youngsters in college they'd been friends with a common interest in and talent for computer sciences. Nathan had taken Harold under his wing and promised that he'd be there when the time came that Harold was ready to mate.

Harold had felt very flattered. He'd allowed Nathan to toy with him a little, to excite the stirrings with his tongue. Like shadows or suggestions of what he felt now. But Nathan had chosen Olivia, a female omega, long before Harold was ready. Harold was always too busy working, enjoying his work. He felt no impulse to give birth, to be subject to an alpha mate, even one he cared for as a close friend, like Nathan. Nathan had created a safe workplace, a nurturing workplace for him. Together they had become … very wealthy.

Now was not a good time to be distracted from work. But would any time be good? He was rapidly approaching the end of his thirties. Was it even safe to become pregnant? What if this alpha were to impregnate and abandon him? He certainly had the resources to raise a pup on his own, he thought.

Am I seriously considering this? His heartbeat quickened as he answered, yes.

He wondered if he was making any excuse he could think of, anything to justify what he wanted. What he wanted was to offer himself to the alpha and be filled to overflowing.

Harold had been driving for many hours, mesmerized by the road. He became aware of dampness seeping between his legs, his thighs almost cramping with tension. With a muffled groan he took the next scenic turn-off, knowing it meant a rest area. He'd change the tampon. Maybe he could take time to make a cup of tea and eat something before getting back on the road.

 

***

 

John had been awake for a while when he felt the turn off the road and slower speed, approaching a stop. He was awake and trying to think through possibilities. The autumn sky was overcast, a dull gray out the tiny window above the bed.

I should be dead, he thought. I am dead. If the agency hadn't found him yet they must believe he was eliminated in the explosion. Whatever was left to him was a cautious and hidden existence. His body was protesting that he lived and desired, despite what he knew to be true. The animal self, his physical being insisted that a way could be found to embrace … an afterlife; something unplanned and untouched by what had come before.

Harold. Wouldn't it be wrong to bind this vital omega to a dead man. He looked up to see him standing, watching him, a hand resting on the back of the driver's seat. He looked a little rumpled from sitting but John could discern the heat and damp of the crotch and forced himself to look up at the big blue eyes. It was a sensitive face. Intelligence, compassion, John saw.

"Did you sleep?" Harold asked him, his voice gentle.

Touch me, John thought, come touch me. The urge had nothing to do with what he thought was right or wrong, it was pure need.

"I did sleep," he answered and watched Harold walk toward him and stop at the toilet.

"Pardon me," he murmured, closing himself into the tiny closet. John stared at the ceiling, trying not to imagine what was happening only feet away, but failing; the omega was loosening its clothes, dropping the trousers and squatting. Attentive to every hidden action he heard the gasping noise Harold made through the thin separation of the door.

"Harold?"

"It's nothing … just, what you'd expect, I suppose. There's a lot of … moisture."

"You should be drinking more," John said, trying to remember if there were other precautions the omega should be taking. Better to think about that than the wetness.

The door swung open and Harold stumbled out, trousers stuck, bunched at his ankles. Shirt tails, his sweater and jacket hid him to his thighs but the sight of his smooth bare legs made it hard for John to attend to what Harold was saying. Then he heard him.

"I can't. I can't, John."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always liked Leon and wished he'd gotten a little less stereotyped and comic treatment.

"Can't what?" John asked. Can't give in, can't hold out … he couldn't tell which was causing the anguish. He was trying to keep his eyes on Harold's face; sitting up to feel more in control. His body moved more easily than it had even hours before; food, sleep, resting within the omega's aura.

"I can't," Harold repeated, looking from John's eyes down at himself and uttering a sound somewhere between another gasp and a sigh. John wanted more than anything to put his arms around him and tell him it was all right. It was intolerable for the omega to be in such distress.

"Whatever it is," he said, keeping his voice even, "we'll fix it. Tell me what you need, Harold."

"What I need? Do you not see me standing here with my pants around my ankles?" His voice was plaintive, his expression pained; part helpless and part incredulous.

"I do." Can't hold out, John decided, and the thought sent a fresh surge of heat to his cock. "I think we can manage something, something that doesn't involve … giving your life away to a stranger."

"What if I choose to," Harold said, eyes brightening. "What if I was meant to find you? Not because you're an alpha who hasn't bonded but because of the man you are, because you're meant to be my alpha." He spoke with surprising conviction, as if this was a reasonable assertion. John glanced down at the bare legs and dropped trousers, not to rob him of his dignity, but to remind him of the state he was in. Harold's eyes reproached him when his gaze traveled back up. "I'm still capable of rational thought," he said.

John didn't think so. It was the omega's heat speaking, he was sure of it, no matter how eloquently Harold expressed himself.

It was what John had wanted, what he had hoped for, that Harold would make the choice that allowed him to take him. But now that he heard the words, he didn't believe them. How could he? It was like hearing a confession under duress. This, John thought, was a rare torture, to have the ripe omega in reach, asking to be taken and have nothing to stop him but his own will. The sweeter and more helplessly needy Harold seemed, the more iron-like John's resolve not to take advantage of him. It would be something akin to rape.

"Let's get through this," he said. "Then we'll talk about the man I am."

"I'm convinced the cycle bestows its own acuity," Harold said, trying to step out of his pants.

"Acuity? Is that … " he began and never finished because Harold tripped, stumbled, and John's arms were suddenly full of half-naked omega. Harold was breathing hard, clinging to him. John took a deep breath and lifted him onto the bed. He stood back, away from him, but the distance was nothing.

"Lie down, Harold. We're going to try to trick your body." Something had to be done, some kind of relief had to be given that would hold long enough to get them back on the road and into Beijing. John moved toward Harold's feet and began unlacing his boots.

Concentrate on what you're doing, he told himself. The boots seemed brand new and like all of Harold's clothes, well made, expensive. Once the boots were eased off he freed him from the tangled pants.

"We're not making a baby here," John said, his voice a heavy whisper. "Or binding you to me." He said it as much for his own benefit as Harold's.

He'd never wanted those things. Bonding, babies; they made no sense in his life. He couldn't say he wanted them now. What he wanted was Harold, for as long as he could have him. Now that he'd touched him, he had to touch him again. He ran his hand up his ankle to his perfect rounded calf. Harold's skin was creamy and warm; the unfiltered, unhindered scent rising off him was dangerously seductive. John cleared his throat. Within his physical need was a plateau, a vantage point where he could adore with his eyes, his hands and let his dick fend for itself. It helped to focus on Harold's face. Despite the expression of longing, John could see the person, not just the need, not just the beckoning heat. He tried to force his imagination in the opposite direction from where it wanted to go, to think of how Harold must look day to day, doing … whatever it was he did.

"Do you watch birds … for a living, Harold?" John stilled his hand on the silky thigh.

"What? No," he answered, leg moving restlessly under John's hand, bending at the knee as if he could make John's touch slide upward. "It's a hobby. I'm … fond of birds."

"What is it you do?" He stroked him and felt where the dampness was a little slippery. John wanted to push the legs apart and … 

"Computers, John. I'm … very good with computers. Please … you don't need to be so gentle."

"I do, Harold. I need to be very gentle. I'm going to lie down with you. Use my fingers."

"Your clothes," Harold said, reaching toward him. "Can't you take them off?"

John closed his eyes. It seemed like the wrong choice … but it could be closer to real for Harold if their naked skin touched.

He moved slowly, as if speed would cause him to make a mistake.

He's good with computers, John repeated to himself and tried to picture him sitting in front of a computer with a look of concentration on his face, studying a screen with his big blue eyes. He liked this image and held on to it as he began to undress. Maybe Harold would look just as passionate working as he did now.

He saw him frown with concern and realized he was revealing some ugly bruises.

"It looks worse than it feels," John said. "Talk to me, Harold."

"Now?"

"Try." He turned his back to finish undressing and heard the sounds of Harold's clothes coming off, the jacket, the sweater and the shirt. John opened his pants and freed his erection which was full and straining. 

"I … live in New York," Harold said. "In the city. I'm almost thirty-nine years old. Not much of a catch, I'm afraid. Is that why … you hesitate."

John left his things in a pile close to the bed, by habit he left his gun in reach though hidden. He turned to Harold.

"I'm trying to be careful, not hesitating," he told him. "Help me."

No pornographic images (of which he had many stored in his head) could have prepared him for Harold stretched out naked on the mussed bed; an omega in his glory, flushed pink highlights and smooth curves. Shoulders broader than a woman's, hips narrower, but a subtle soft layer of shallow breast and slightly rounded stomach. Harold's hand moved down his own belly as if following John's eyes and his fingers curled around the thick shaft of his cock. Three, maybe four inches, John thought, of invitingly excited flesh, the balls tucked up tight at the base. A neater, prettier version of male genitals that looked like perfect mouthfuls to John.

"Yes, I'll try," Harold said.

The earnest response made him smile. He lay down, gradually letting his body press all along Harold's side, his hand roving over the modest curve of his breast, fingertips brushing the swell of pink nipple. He felt Harold's heartbeat under his palm and dropped his head into the curve of his neck, inches from the forbidden patch of skin on his shoulder. His cock rubbed against Harold's thigh and the first wave of ejaculation hit him.

It helped, giving him some relief, allowing him more control.

 

***

Harold rocked into the pressure and penetration; he moaned, unable to hold back. The thrusting motion of John's body, the weight of him; it felt like he was in him, over him, surrounding him.

Together they reached a state of calm.

Harold was captivated by John's eyes. There was a description he'd once read of a woman who couldn't breast feed her baby, how she carefully held the baby to bottle feed, making the experience as intimate and close as she possibly could, gazing into her baby's eyes. That was how John made love to him, he thought. He found it difficult to believe he could ever feel closer to a person than he did to this man whose fingers were deep inside him, whose scent was all over him, whose semen had drenched him, mingling with Harold's own ejaculation. So much was in the eyes gazing at him between kisses.

The sound of engines startled Harold from his reverie and John looked away, toward the sound. Harold's body clutched but then released its hold on the fingers as John slowly disengaged, rolling on his side and off the bed. He gave Harold a look to reassure him and drew the covers up over him.

The engine sounds were getting closer and Harold groaned, finding the noise familiar.

"I think it's my colleagues. The group I was traveling with."

He watched John reach into the pile of his discarded clothes and draw out a gun.

The firearm shocked him, but what shocked him even more was how at ease John looked, entirely naked with a gun in hand as he lifted a corner of the curtain to look out. Harold stared and for the first time, through the haze of hormones, wondered just who the man he'd chosen really was.

"A woman and a man," John said. "She looks European. He appears to be Chinese."

"Dr Groves and Dr Tao. Please don't shoot them." John set the gun aside, much to Harold's relief. "Let me talk to them," he said, struggling to sit up.

"Stay there, Harold. I'll let them in if they want to see you're all right." He scooped his pants up from the floor.

 

***

Root wanted to claw the smug bastard's face. This was a disaster of major proportions and it was her own fault. Tao had been the one who pushed to go after Harold. "He's traveling alone, and that scent," Tao said, when Root finally showed him the note. She'd wanted to keep the paper, the fragrance of Harold for herself, not thinking clearly through the implications.

"The little guy's gonna draw a trail of rogues all the way to Beijing," Tao insisted. "I'm going after him. You do whatever you want but I can't stomach the thought of anything happening to him. Poor guy must be confused as hell."

His action shook Root back to her senses. Tao was right, it wasn't safe for Harold to be traveling by himself and she wasn't going to let this excuse for an alpha be the one to come to Harold's rescue.

They'd checked every rest area, every inn parking lot. It was afternoon by the time they found him. Too late. At the door of Harold's trailer the stench of a powerful alpha hit her before it even opened. Tao seemed oblivious, knocking at the door. And the man who answered was like a Neanderthal; big, strong looking and reeking to high heaven of rut. She backed away involuntarily, to lessen the assault on her senses.

"Harold's here," the alpha said, as easily as if he hadn't ruined everything. "He's safe."

"I'd like to see him," Tao said, practically kowtowing to the shirtless man. It infuriated her to see Tao's calm supplication. She knew she wasn't strong enough to challenge this knuckle-dragging ape but she wouldn't defer to him. She stayed back, wishing she had a weapon.

The alpha stood aside to let Tao pass, his eyes on her, unconcerned, as if she were no threat whatsoever. That Harold Finch had given himself to this side of beef, someone who couldn't possibly appreciate who he was, was a crime against humanity. She thanked god for a gusting breeze that cleared the air somewhat … though his unpleasant scent clung in her sinuses.

When Tao emerged he actually had a slight smile on his face, probably the effect of getting physically close to Harold, she thought, which added insult to injury.

"The little guy's fine," Tao said to her. "Warm in his nest. Cozy, with that happy, misty look. Crazy how things work out." He turned to look back at the alpha. "Congratulations, man. You really hit the jackpot." The alpha's smile was barely there. He nodded and with a last look at Root, that felt like a warning, he closed the trailer door.

Idiots, she thought. The pair of them didn't deserve to know Harold. Another plan. She needed another plan. She'd wait for Harold in the city. He'd come to his senses. He had to.

"Did he … claim him?" she asked Tao as they headed across the lot.

"Probably. If the male sings pleasing songs and performs the correct dance, the rosy finch accepts him."

"Spare me the bird analogies, could you tell if the alpha bonded him?"

"Maybe not yet, hard to say."

Did Tao even have a sense of smell, she wondered. To think someone had actually married him. She pitied the fool.

 

***

 

Sameen Shaw-Tao saw her guy emerge from the airport terminal right on time. He looked none the worse for wear and having monitored their accounts she knew he'd steered clear of any gambling temptation. She briefly noticed a couple emerging behind him that he turned to speak to before catching sight of her. A tall alpha with smoky good-looks and an elegant omega who seemed to have the big guy completely entranced. The pair made her grin. 

She was a woman of muted emotions but she felt her version of happy seeing Leon. He'd returned to her in good shape, having been a good boy. She gave his thigh a squeeze when he leaned over to kiss her.

"It's so good to be home," he sighed.

Sameen didn't do romantic love. She didn't have the mental make up for it, but she did feel love in her own way and she had needs. He filled them. She felt ready to get him home and jump his tawny ass. He was the only man she'd ever slept with who didn't require fawning or reassurance that he was good in bed. Funny, because he was pretty damn good; especially good at what she liked which was letting her take charge. She'd known men who claimed to like it but when it came right down to it, what they really liked was for someone else to do the work, the way they wanted it done.

More times than she could count, people who met them together couldn't sort the scents and assumed she was the alpha and Leon the beta. It didn't bother him and her attitude was … fuck you, that's why I put the ring on his finger.


	4. Chapter 4

Megan Tillman, an American OB/GYN, was not sorry to see the end in sight for her stint at the International Hospital in Beijing. Her three month posting in China had sounded like a great opportunity but turned out to be a parade of wealthy, english-speaking executives with a dash of tourists; garden variety STDs, fill in visits for vacationing expectant moms, cases of bad cramps, and omegas in need of prescription refills for birth control.

Harold Finch was one of the few patients who'd presented her with anything in the realm of her sub specialty which was endocrinology. She was very familiar with the type and brand of implant he had and had never encountered one that failed.

"Which isn't to say there can't be a first," she told him. The omega was clearly cycling though beginning to taper off. Even among alphas her scent comprehension level was extraordinary and it was a distinct advantage for her as a diagnostic tool. Her wife, Madeleine, who was a surgeon, accused her of having chosen her field so she could spend her days steeped in omega pheromones. She didn't deny it had its appeal. She and Madeleine were a rare alpha/alpha pairing with a dual bonding. It didn't mean she couldn't appreciate the company and appeal of omegas. The present being a case in point. This patient's scent was healthy and incredibly rich in endorphin triggers. Being near him was like enjoying a cool mist on a hot day. 

"You're not pregnant," she assured him. Her patient looked much too healthy and physically at ease to be in a hospital. She felt a little like his guest, admiring him in his pretty silk pajamas, cross-legged on the turned down bed, working at his laptop computer with the swivel table for his desk.

"It would have been quite surprising if I were, doctor. I told you, there was no intercourse."

"You did tell me that, Harold, however, it seemed prudent to confirm your condition." The omega tilted his head with a small smile, giving her a look that said, I know you didn't believe me but I'm not going to give you a difficult time over it. Which … she appreciated. "I'd like to keep you here over night," she said. "Just to keep an eye on your levels and keep you safe. You'll be vulnerable until you come to the end of your cycle, which should be soon."

She glanced down at his chart as she spoke, avoiding his eyes. These statements were not untrue but they weren't the whole truth; not the only reasons she wanted to keep him through the night.

"Is John here?" he asked.

"The alpha who brought you in?" She hadn't met him but had been regaled by stories from the intake staff. A rough character who'd come in carrying the omega in his arms. She'd envisioned a caveman of some sort and feared the patient had been raped or harmed until she examined him. 

"Yes."

"As far as I know, your friend Dr Groves is the only one who's come in. Part of keeping you safe is restricting your visitors."

"Dr Tillman … if you want me to stay it would be better to let me see him." It pained her that this beautiful omega was pining for an unwilling alpha. Harold Finch seemed to have no idea how desirable, how appealing he was; it struck her as very wrong. On the other hand, if Harold was to be believed, and she was beginning to lean in that direction in spite of how unlikely his story was, the man he'd discovered in the wilds of Lingshan was both formidable and resourceful. What she didn't understand was why the alpha had exerted such super-human restraint after being chosen? A serious case of commitment phobia was her diagnosis in absentia.

 

***

John was able to collect much needed supplies from two out of three caches he'd left hidden in the city: papers, money, and a backup weapon. The third he sensed had been disturbed and steered clear of it. It had been the least secure of the three so its discovery wasn't cause for undue concern.

By the time he returned to the hospital, he was showered and dressed in a new suit. He'd splurged a little on clothes, considering how well Harold dressed. He'd also spent money on getting his hair cut, a very close shave and manicure; hoping to appear less feral to the omega and more appropriate to the hospital staff.

The international hospital was an expensive and exclusive facility which presented more of a challenge than a large hospital would have. Even so, John's skills were equal to evading security and finding his way to Harold's suite. He carried a bag of fresh-baked buns, open at the top so the aromas wreathed and masked much of his personal scent. He saw the doctor emerge from Harold's room. She wasn't fooled by the bakery smells. He smiled.

"John, I presume," she said.

"Doctor … " he said, glancing at her name badge. " … Tillman. How is he?"

"You weren't stopped at the front desk?" He offered a mild shrug. She looked at the bakery bag. "Interesting technique. You're not bonded to this omega. What, exactly, is your interest here?"

"Concerned … friend."

"I shouldn't allow you in, you know, but Harold has been asking for you. I'd like to keep him here overnight, if possible."

He waited for her continue, feeling her discomfort at the last thing she'd said.

"Walk with me, Mr …"

"Riley," he said, and fell into step behind her. She led him to an office down the corridor and he took a seat across the desk from her.

"If I let you in to see him," she said, "it will only heighten the state he's still in. I don't want to do that to him. I'd like you to promise me you will either keep your stay brief … or you will carry though with bonding."

"I'll keep the visit brief," he said.

"I'm hoping you'll urge him to stay the night." He studied her for a moment, tasting her scent.

"You're not lying to me, doctor, but there is something you're hiding. If you want me to help you persuade Harold to do something, I need to know why."

He felt her considering him in turn.

"You may have noticed that Harold's aura is … particularly strong."

He nodded.

"I have a patient here. A young alpha who has suffered a serious injury. An injury that renders him no threat to Harold."

"You think Harold could help him."

"Honestly, I don't know. But the boy needs something beyond the surgical treatment we've given him."

"Have you asked Harold?"

"Not yet. This isn't exactly standard procedure. I am monitoring Harold's levels. It would be good to keep him here, but I'm hoping that while he's here I can bring the two of them together, possibly for the night. So … now you know. It's your turn to be honest with me, Mr Riley. You obviously care about Harold enough to sneak in here to see him, all cleaned up and shiny, and yet you've turned him down. Why? If you're unwilling, why subject him to this."

"It's … complicated." This was a much more personal and complex question than he had any intention of answering.

She narrowed her eyes at him.

"I don't think it is," she said. "Not for him. I'm going to go out on a limb here and give you a piece of advice. There's more freedom in commitment than you might imagine."

"Doctor, you don't know me. Harold barely knows me."

"He probably knows more than you think. In case you haven't noticed, he's very bright. Contrary to popular opinion, no doubt because it rarely happens anymore, omegas in natural cycle are incredibly astute when it comes to choosing a mate. They have to be. I'd venture to say that an unregulated omega knows its mind better than one dulled by hormone treatments."

"That's an unusual point of view, doctor. Why regulate them?" he asked.

"For our sake, in my opinion. Alphas don't care much for sharing power."

"And yet … you provide these treatments."

"It's the law, Mr. Riley."

He didn't buy her point of view, had never heard it expressed. He could tell she had strong convictions on the subject but he'd gone as far down this road with her as he was willing to go. What he wanted was to get past her and see Harold.

"Harold seems like a generous person," John said, changing the subject. "If you ask him to help someone I don't think he'll turn you down."

"Think about what we've talked about. I won't keep you any longer."

John was relieved to leave her office. Relieved to reach Harold, to be in his presence. The doctor was right enough about this, he thought, his aura was powerful. His omega. He already considered him this even though they might never bond. John was convinced that he could love him from a distance if nothing else. She couldn't know how badly he wanted him and how wrong it might be to take him.

Harold was sitting up in bed with the swivel table across his lap, a laptop open and his face filled with concentration, concentration he broke at the sight of John. Happiness shone from him though he was not smiling. John looked at the lips he had kissed for hours, the bottom lip with its distinctive pout, and he was back in the trailer where nothing mattered but the ways they could safely bring their bodies together.

"Harold. You look … well."

"John."

He set the bakery bag on the table and sat down in the bedside chair. Harold was pushing the swivel table away. John put out a hand to hold it in place.

"Better leave it there. Your doctor made it clear, a short visit. Good behavior. Give me your hand." With the bed table like a shield in place, blocking Harold's body from the waist down, John took Harold's hand, kissed the backs of his fingers, rubbed the palm against his cheek and kissed it.

"I know you want me," the omega said, softly. "Tell me what's holding you back." 

"Listen to me, Harold. The papers I'm carrying … the weapon you saw, there are reasons." He looked into the thoughtful blue eyes, willing him to understand. "The job I had, it's the kind no one is supposed to know about."

He saw him frown, felt his surge of adrenaline. Harold suddenly pulled his hand away from him and quickly unplugged his laptop. John was shocked to see him pick up the pitcher by his bedside and pour water over the keyboard.

"A hacker," Harold said. "I was trying to trace them when you came in. Corporate espionage, I'm afraid. There was nothing on here for them to unearth but … if you're going to speak of things you want kept secret we can't take any chances." He looked at John almost apologetically. "The lengths people will go to, to get information is shocking." He looked back at his ruined computer. "I'm afraid you're not the only one whose work involves some … subterfuge. I thank god it hasn't reached the point where I need to carry a firearm. I will, however, need a new laptop."

"I'll take care of it, Harold." He studied the omega in yet a new light. Was it possible that he was already in need of protection, for reasons that had nothing to do with John? If that were true, if Harold needed to be protected, nothing could hold him back. He felt a rush of desire that dizzied him.

The omega's face was full of the affection John was quickly becoming addicted to. He had to kiss him, he was too close, too tempting to resist. He pushed the table aside and sat on the bed beside him, urging him back against the pillows. Harold's welcoming arms flowed around his neck, head tilting back, his lips expectantly parted. John kissed him, savoring the contact but at the same time setting a limit in his head.

He ended the kiss when he had to. He ran his fingers through Harold's soft hair and kissed his forehead, breathing deeply to fill his senses.

"I have to go now," he told him, standing up, letting go before he reached the point where he'd need much, much … more.

"But … " Harold protested.

"We've made it this far," John said. "If you still want me when this is over … I'm yours, Harold."

"Of course I will … I want you now." Harold's look of longing was so poignant that John almost stopped in his tracks. Why wait? Why not throw off his clothes and … seal this between them.

Because he wanted to know, to be sure. Tillman might be convinced Harold knew what was right for him, what was good for him, but John wanted Harold to view him in the cold light of day, unswayed by the passion of mating hormones; John wanted to be chosen for who and what he was. 

"I'll get the laptop," he said. "I think Dr Tillman is going to ask you to help her with something. It could be a good thing."

"What?" Harold looked at him, confused.

"Ask her," he said, stopping by the door. "You … rest. We've almost made it through, Harold. There's a phone for you in that bag … with my number. Call me if anything happens and you need me. I'll be listening."

 

***

 

Dr Tillman gave a few polite raps on his door before opening it.

"I saw your guest leave."

"I gather you impressed him with the need for brevity," Harold said, trying not to sound resentful.

"In my short interaction with him, I'd say he's much more concerned with not being good enough for you than any shortcomings you imagine in yourself." Harold didn't respond to the comment. He was clinging to John saying … I'm yours.

"He mentioned you might ask for my help with something." Harold didn't want to discuss John with her, the subject was too tender; the difficulty of seeing him leave and … the promise. "Are you having some kind of problems with your network?" he asked her.

"No, nothing like that. I don't need your computer expertise for this. Just your kindness and your … aura. It's for another patient."

This was so surprising that Harold's feelings of resistance to her evaporated.

"What can I do?" he asked, and she told him. He listened to the story of an alpha child and his surgery. His depression.

"How old is he?" Harold imagined John in the place of the young alpha, facing a life without the ability to attain an erection. Having spent the past days submerged in the pleasure John was able to give him with his hand, his kisses, his scent, Harold thought he'd gladly spend his life bound to him with the prospect of that continued intimacy. 

"Twelve. Still a kid, but old enough to know what he's missing. I think it would be very good for him to spend time with you, to get the benefit of your pheromones. It's not something I have any right to ask for but if you'd agree to it, I'd like to bring him in here to visit. I've told him that you need an alpha to comfort you."

"It's a very creative approach you take to your practice, doctor." Harold was moved by her care for her patient. "I suppose I could use … some comforting," he said.

"Thank you," she said, closing her eyes with relief. Her gratitude seemed so heartfelt that Harold hoped she wouldn't be too disappointed if the plan bore no fruit.

When she left Harold found the phone in the bag of pastry. It carried a scent of coconut and lemons.

"Yes," John answered almost instantly.

"I hope you'll be happy to hear that I'm probably going to be spending the night with another alpha," Harold said, lying back on his pillows.

"I'm not sure happy describes how that makes me feel. But I feel good, hearing your voice."

"Thank you for the pastry. I'm glad I'll have some sweets to offer the boy."

"You have a lot more to offer than that," John said.

Harold closed his eyes, picturing John, listening to him breathe.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Darren McGrady, aged down a little from 14 to 12. Always loved this character from the Wolf and Cub episode.

Root had been monitoring Harold's laptop since he turned it on. There was little of interest, a casual email to Nathan Ingram about the conference. He mentioned the trip to Lingshan but nothing about being in the hospital and definitely nothing about bringing home a new pet. Lots of bird browsing.

She could barely get audio but was riveted by what she did hear when the alpha entered the room. Harold wanted him, the alpha was balking. John. His name was John.

He mentioned papers … a weapon … a job no one was supposed to know about. The audio shut off abruptly after that and so did her connection, permanently.

Papers. The alpha's identity must be fake. He was armed. The job; he must be some kind of spy. Root thought he might even work for Decima, her old firm, but she'd never known them to invest in this kind of extensive field work. Perhaps one of the other tech companies. Logan Pierce's outfit was pretty aggressive. The government? Possible, she thought. It wouldn't surprise her if the intelligence community was interested in the work Harold Finch was doing.

It had sounded like the man was confessing to Harold and she felt … cheated. Even in this he was getting ahead of her. Root struggled to bring the bigger picture into focus. Something was wrong with the way she was putting the pieces together. How on earth had the alpha managed to turn up in the right place, at the right time, out in the middle of nowhere? Was that really something a guy like Logan Pierce would hire someone to do?

He'd found the trackers and the bugs she'd planted in Harold's room; with a scanner, no doubt. She knew it was him because she'd seen his smug face on camera before he disabled the feed. She'd briefly had eyes and ears back up in the hospital room, planted in a bouquet of flowers she sent, but Harold, after commenting on how pretty they were, had asked the nurse to please take them away. The last thing she'd heard him say was, "The scent is a little disturbing."

Root was no closer to her objective and no longer bothering to keep up the pretense of attending any part of the conference. Her last hope was the flight home. She consoled herself by hacking the hospital network and locating Finch's medical chart. Not bonded. Not pregnant. Due to be released on time.

 

***

 

John didn't trouble Harold with what he'd found in the hotel room. It was secured. He knew who'd planted the devices, her scent was all over them. The other one, Tao, had been easy to track down at one of the hotel bars.

"Oh, hey," Tao greeted him warmly. "How's the little guy doing?"

"Fine," John said.

"I miss him. It's not the same here without Finch to hang out with. Groves is a no show. Tell you truth, I think she might have a little crush on him."

"Really?" John ordered whiskey and told the bartender, "another one here," indicating Leon's glass.

"Thanks. There's nothing for you to worry about with Groves. She's married and bonded, and Finch, he was polite with her but … real reserved, you know." 

"Did you know Dr Groves before?"

"Met them both here. Finch and I were having tea at the opening meet and greet, talking about our favorite spots around the city, back home. Groves shows up, introduces herself, and after that, swear to God, she was on our heels every time we turned around. I figured it was some kinda crush because she never seemed interested in anything we were talking about. Plus … the way she looked at him. I could have told her she was barking up the wrong tree, but hey, none of my business."

Harold was right, John thought. Corporate spying. Though Leon might not be wrong about the crush. John had scented her bond in that parking lot. It didn't mean she couldn't cheat on her wife. She could have fucked Harold even if she couldn't claim him. He suppressed the impulse toward rage the thought of this triggered. She wouldn't be the first operative to get hot for a target. She'd displayed a flicker of possessiveness toward Harold but it was too weak to present a threat. He'd warned her off but the warning wouldn't stop her from spying on him.

He still felt the warming effects of the whiskey when he returned to Harold's room. He did a quick sweep. Still secure. Expensive suite, expensive clothes. His omega was apparently very well off. John hung his suit in the closet beside one of Harold's. He could catch a little of his scent on it.

He turned on his earpiece as he did periodically, hoping Harold had turned his phone back on. There were voices. Harold and a young male, judging by timbre. He thought it must be the patient Tillman had spoken to him about; she'd evidently gotten him to agree to her plan.

John stretched out on the turned-down bed to listen to them, wishing he could find traces of the omega's essence on the linens. No luck. Housekeeping was thorough in a five-star hotel.

"What's to stop me from biting you right now?" John heard the words like the blare of an alarm. His heart lurched and he found himself standing by the bed, buckling his shoulder holster. Then the omega's sleepy voice filled his ear.

"Well, I'd stop you, for one thing," Harold said, his voice was soothing. He sounded calm, amused. John heard him yawn and he felt almost weak with relief as he sat back down, there was no threat here. Both voices, John thought, sounded drowsy, like people speaking near the edge of sleep.

"Lie still," Harold said, "or you'll have to get back in your own bed."

What the hell was going on? John picked up the bedside phone, thinking he'd get some answers out of Tillman directly but then he set the phone back down again, focusing on Harold's relaxed breathing.

"Okay, but … what about when I'm older?" This was a kid.

"You'll have lots of mates to choose from."

"Okay."

"Good?" Harold murmured.

"Mm," the boy made a muffled noise. There was no more talk. John stretched back out on the bed, wishing he'd begun listening earlier. He turned out the lights, envying the young alpha sharing his omega's bed. Lulled by their mingled breathing sounds, John drifted to sleep.

***

Harold was released in the afternoon of the following day. John left the car and driver at the entrance and went inside to get him. The omega was saying his goodbyes. He was flanked by Dr Tillman and a young African American boy, barely in his teens, who was dressed, if John was not mistaken, in Harold's pajamas and robe. As he got closer he was sure of it. The clothes were too big for him but he'd rolled the sleeves and cuffs tidily (or someone, maybe Harold, had done it for him) and he wore them with panache. The boy eyed him critically, and John returned the favor.

"This is Darren McGrady," Harold introduced the youngster to him. "A brilliant music and art student who was a great comfort to me last night." The kid gave John a curt nod.

Whatever the boy's problem was, he had a healthy enough smell, John thought. The overlay of Harold's scent didn't hurt.

"I guess you've gotta go now, Harold," the boy said. The voice was unmistakably the one John had heard over the phone. "Don't forget your promise."

"I won't forget."

John saw how reluctant the two alphas were to let Harold go. He waited with patience and some sympathy. He could afford to be patient, knowing he was very close to having him to himself. He understood and accepted each one's look of warning in his direction, the doctor's, the boy's. They wanted this omega to be treated well, to be protected. John offered them his unspoken assurance, with his posture and tolerance; he trusted his own scent to convey his intentions.

Harold had told him the doctor confirmed that his cycle had ended. John tried to see some difference in his appearance, taste the difference in his pheromones. He couldn't see a difference. His smell was still intensely arousing … but the caress of it was less emphatic. John felt the allure was strong but not urgent. For him it was the difference between wanting to drag him off somewhere and fuck him and a near compulsion to drag him off somewhere … and fuck him.

John forced aside thoughts of dragging and fucking.

When they were alone in the backseat of the car, Harold slid into his arms and hid his face against John's neck. John closed his eyes, feeling Harold's lips part on his skin, feeling the whisper of his breath. This was unbearable sweetness; this was Harold's desire for him. He turned his head to bring their mouths together and sniffed a hint of the boy on Harold's silky cheek. It was … not welcome.

"You gave him your pajamas … should I ask what you promised him?"

"What? Oh, John," Harold sighed, and kissed him and John thought about nothing but tasting and touching and how good it was.

 

***

"Stop now," Harold whispered, drawing back from the kisses, aware that any moment they were going to have to walk through the lobby of the hotel. He reluctantly moved John's hand away from where it had disappeared into his open coat, teasing him; playing with his cock, and deeper between his legs, pressing upward, rubbing with his fingertips like he would get inside him right through the fabric of his pants. Harold's cock was full and inside he was liquid with longing.

"You look … very good," John said.

"I'm sure I look like I've been doing exactly what we've been doing in the backseat of a car." He tried to straighten his clothes a little, centering his tie and smoothing it back into his vest.

"I think I said that."

Harold felt a smile tug at his lips, still sure he must look tumbled but not caring so much, not with John gazing at him flush with an alpha's pride of possession. John rarely flaunted his considerable power. His self containment was something Harold admired but this flare of possessive affection, so vivid in his eyes, in his aura, sent a sparkling warmth through Harold's body.

There was a chill to his happiness as they walked through the lobby, an uneasy awareness that the same people who'd stared at him rudely, who'd shown him only contempt days before were now respectful. More than respectful, Harold thought. They were deferential because he was owned, in their eyes, by a powerful alpha.

What saved him from spiraling into these depressing thoughts was the knowledge that this alpha, his alpha, had never treated him as lesser, as weaker, or as a creature fit only to impregnate.

Harold was accustomed to being treated respectfully but wondered now, as he walked with John, how much of that respect was a reflection of his friend and partner, Nathan Ingram, who'd walked at his side, figuratively, if not literally, since they'd met in college.

He didn't want to think about Nathan. He didn't want to think about how he would judge his behavior, how he'd view all that had happened. How he'd see John.

He'll be happy for me, Harold thought, but couldn't quite convince himself of it. If I believed that, he wondered, why didn't I tell him?

He felt the lift of the elevator under his feet as they rode up to the room and glanced up to find John's eyes on him. A serious expression. Waiting, watching him as if he'd felt Harold drift away from him in his thoughts. A part of him knew that Nathan would react badly to his mating, to John. He could almost hear him saying, "I let you out of my sight for two weeks and this is what happens …" Yes, he thought, this is what happens … I find my alpha.

As he gazed at John he saw him breathe more deeply and relax. And he was glad. He was glad that all the choices and meandering pathways of his life had brought him here to John.

 

***

 

John paused on his way from the bathroom to imprint the sight before him in his mind. Harold lay stretched out on a pair of thick, snow-white towels for the sake of keeping their bed dry. His upper body was nestled in a pile of the hotel's luxurious pillows, an arm behind his head. His legs were slightly spread. He was glistening from his belly button to his butt with a blend of moisture from his body, John's sperm and his spit. There were some drops of omega sperm John had missed when he licked him clean.

It amazed John that someone so drenched by sex, so … fucked, could still appear so innocent. It was partly his looks; the wide blue eyes watching John with hazy contentment. The pretty mouth. John found him other-worldly, like a little nymph with his barely-there breasts, the modest penis, the downy surface of his cunt.

Harold had been a virgin. This wasn't something John had ever looked for or fantasized about but he felt the depth of his possession as he gazed at him. He had a warm wash cloth in hand, a fresh towel on his shoulder, but he loved the sight of his omega rendered sticky and shiny and sated.

He sat beside him and wiped the excesses, washed his hip and his belly, teased his cock and balls with the damp cloth. Harold lifted his knees and John ran the cloth down over the puckered slit and lower between the cheeks of his ass. This journey with his hand began to arouse John, and he saw Harold's gaze had dropped to his crotch, eyes focused with interest on John's lengthening cock. That interest stoked him, making him harder.

Harold looked up, met his eyes and then very deliberately turned over on his stomach, gazing back over his shoulder at John. His round ass lifted provocatively and John's cock fully distended in a rush, lifting heavily.

"I need a couple of those pillows," he said, stealing them from the edges of the omega's nest. "Lift your hips."

This was not about fucking. He knew Harold hadn't turned his back just to tempt him to fuck him again … though he was going to.

There was no mark on the skin or difference in texture where Harold's neck and shoulder met, but John's eyes focused where he knew unerringly he wanted to lick him, to bite him. He nosed at the spot and the sound Harold made was silky and inviting. John licked his skin, he sucked at it as he slid his cock inside him.

Even as he flared with the exultation of claiming Harold … John became aware of something brilliant, an argent spray of light in his senses and knew it was the omega claiming him. The pervasive pleasure that enveloped him was radiating from Harold and spreading outward to encompass him. 

"Thank you," he murmured, covering the side of Harold's face with kisses, the back of his head. Thank you, he said without words, rubbing his nose and lips through his damp hair. Harold wiggled under him and John felt himself released. He kissed the rosy bruise he'd made on his mate's skin and the omega sighed.


	6. Chapter 6

In the middle of the night Harold unpacked the laptop John had bought for him and secured it. He'd reluctantly left his alpha in bed to go work in the dining area of the suite. What had awakened him, what had spurred him out of bed, was anxiety. In his dreams he'd seen John hand-cuffed, seen him imprisoned and himself in helpless despair. What the dream meant to him when he woke up was that it was time to get to work.

Ever since John's abbreviated attempt to explain himself during their brief, intense hospital visit Harold had been applying himself mentally to the question of who he was and how to protect him. He needed secure internet access and the new laptop.

He arranged himself at the glass-topped dining table, the flower arrangement and bowl of fruit pushed aside and John's passport and papers laid out to inspect. He examined them closely. John Riley. The papers looked good but a quick search online confirmed Harold's fears. The documents would hold up to casual scrutiny, nothing more; John Riley didn't exist.

Working from the rough framework of the fake passport, visa and birth certificate, he began to construct a life and document it carefully. The best cover, he knew, would be one closest to the truth.

Harold had considered the best means of discovering the truth, turning over the scant details he had in his mind. He began with the location where he'd met John, the smell of smoke in his clothing and the clues he'd given him concerning his papers and the nature of his work. He'd begin by hacking the CIA, the most likely source of covert activity in China. There might be other entities with agents in this part of the world but the most obvious proved to be the right one.

He searched for mentions of fire or an explosion. He wasn't as concerned with the nature of the mission as he was with its personnel, but he discovered that its objective was the recovery of an information package and a missile strike was authorized to cleanse the site. He was stunned to read that agents John Reese and Kara Stanton were both presumed dead.

The CIA had left him for dead. This chilled Harold. A part of him was terrified by what he was doing but he made himself keep working, more determined than ever to do everything he could to safeguard him. The best way to do that was creating an identity closely bordering the one the agency had created for him. John Reese. This wouldn't be John's real name, but the CIA cover identity was full enough to plumb for the data he needed. When he was done it far outstripped the density and documentation of John Reese's history.

The sun was coming up. A hazy pink light through the dust-laden Beijing sky.

The work still needed some polishing here and there but Harold was becoming too sleepy to continue. The world looked slightly unreal to him when he rose from his computer. He'd traveled farther from the safety of the world he knew in these few hours than the physical distance was from New York to Beijing.

He needed to go to the bathroom and used the powder room toilet so he wouldn't disturb John. He gingerly inspected his crotch with his fingers. Touching himself so intimately made him feel closer to John, to John as he knew him. His alpha, his lover, not the collection of details in a file. He made himself stop with a shudder when the sensations became too intense. The doctor had told him the opening would remain … open, more or less. Also, apparently, wet to some degree or another, though not like now, he thought, still slick with more than his own body fluids.

She'd shown him a product she said was widely used by sexually active omegas (avoiding the words bonded or married, he'd thought, out of consideration for his single status.) Absorbent pads that fitted in the underwear with an adhesive strip. Females of all breeds, she'd told him, used something similar that would work if he couldn't find the right supplies but the ones designed for omegas would fit him best. She'd given him a stack of them to take with him when he left the hospital and recommended that he not use tampons. Strange complications, he thought, fitting a fresh pad into the crotch of the underwear she'd also provided … plain white cotton … things. Boxers were apparently no longer an option. These aren't briefs, he thought, they're panties.

Just put them on and get back to work, he told himself.

He could barely keep his eyes open when he sat back down in front of the computer. He had to lie down for a few minutes and eyed the nearby couch. He didn't dare go back to bed though it called to him; it would feel so good to curl up with John, feel his body all around him. The bed would be warm and fragrant … but if he succumbed, god only knew when he'd emerge again. And when would they talk? They had to talk, to review this material. If he went back to bed … talking is not what would happen. A few minutes sleep, the couch.

***

John didn't consider it a good sign that Harold had deserted their bed after bonding. He was relieved to find him on the couch but still disturbed that he'd left him to sleep in another room. The laptop open on the table caught his attention and when he touched it the screen came to life.

He saw what looked like a military document and he sat down to read it.

In all his time in the agency he'd never seen this attention to detail, never had a cover so complete. He was stunned to see school records, school pictures even … how on earth had Harold uncovered these? He looked at the omega, sound asleep on the couch. Was it possible he was actually an agent for another agency … NSA, ISA, was this a recruitment? John couldn't believe it and yet, who else could have found these bits and pieces of his past. Who, without classified intelligence would be capable of locating him, knowing who he was?

All this time, he thought, I've been afraid of what he didn't know about me. I'm a fool. I've been used, he thought. Trapped. The action, the mission in Ordos to recover a laptop computer. And here, a computer expert. John felt a jolt of alarm and the flaring impulse to nullify a threat, restrain and interrogate. The flare burned hot and … died. It wasn't possible. This was his omega, sleeping like an angel with his feet tucked under a pillow for warmth.

If he was planted to recruit me, John thought. It's working. But which agency?

He knelt by the couch and eased open the tie of the plush hotel robe, thinking briefly of the youngster who was wrapped in Harold's own robe, somewhere, being comforted by traces of him. This is mine, John thought, wondering if there was a hidden price tag, new handlers who would appear. If there were, he knew there was little they could ask that he wouldn't do to keep him. The blue eyes opened and blinked sleepily and John could not believe there was any hidden agenda. He ran his hand over a smooth breast and down his stomach to the … panties? Faintly ridiculous and yet oddly erotic with Harold inside them. He traced the cock through the cotton and it swelled under his fingertips.

"Dr Tillman gave them to me in the hospital," Harold said, a little apologetically. "Not the most alluring of garments."

"You're wrong about that," John said, gently rubbing the swelling cock, watching his expression transform with pleasure. He could feel a spot of dampness forming in the thin fabric. He slid the underwear down Harold's thighs, wanting to suck him. As enamored as he was of fucking him, he considered this small cock to be the perfect appetizer. It fit neatly in his mouth and he loved the soft skin against his lips, the smooth head on his tongue; Harold's excited movements. He slid his fingers inside him so he could feel the vaginal muscles contract when he ejaculated.

 

***

Harold was radiating heat like an oven and grateful for John helping him out of his robe and getting the constraining underwear off. The robe was under him on the couch and between his knees on the floor; protecting the furniture and the rug he supposed. It mattered little to him at the moment. All that mattered was the alpha moving inside him, leaning over him; the wet kisses along his neck and shoulder, the teeth gently nipping that sent shivers through him.

He was unaware of the knotting until John stopped thrusting. Only then did he feel the pressure. It was both a good feeling and a frustrating one. Good because the pressure was pleasurable, frustrating because the fucking motion had stopped and the only way he could renew the sensation he craved was to squirm and urge John to keep thrusting even though he couldn't withdraw, short urgent thrusts that ground him into the couch cushions and then at last he felt the powerful contractions of orgasm that lifted his hips and made him cry out.

He was panting for breath into the folds of the robe. He felt John's hands cupping his hips, his kisses and whispers near his ear.

"Easy," he was murmuring. Harold felt another tremor in his muscles and gasped. John rocked into him with a soft groan. Moments later Harold felt him gently disengage and slide free.

 

***

John was sorry to rinse away the evidence of his pleasure but washing Harold was its own reward; soaping him, handling him in the shower. He was pliant and affectionate and John liked the way he held on to him, hands on his waist. Harold's gaze grew serious, however, near the end.

"This morning," he said, "while you were sleeping, I took the liberty of working on your cover, John."

"I know," he said, turning off the water. Looking away for a moment he pushed his hair back and wiped his face to prepare himself to meet Harold's gaze. He put his hands on the omega's shoulders. "Where did you get the pictures, Harold?"

"I hacked the CIA files," he said. He said it as simply as if he'd announced a trip to the drug store. There wasn't a hint or whisper of guile in his energy, in his face. All John could taste was a soft apology. "I realize it's an incredible violation of your privacy … not to mention completely illegal. But I had to, I needed pictures, details to make it real enough to stand up to scrutiny."

"How could you know which files to look at?" he asked him, trying to keep his voice gentle, but Harold was sensing his suspicion, sensing something wrong. John could see it in his eyes.

"I worked backwards from where I found you. From the smell of smoke in your clothes. I searched communiques and recent emails for mention of a fire or explosion in North Eastern China." His fingers still lightly clutched John's waist.

"What agency do you work for, Harold?" Genuine astonishment.

"No agency."

"You don't work for the government?"

"I'm a partner in a technology firm. As I told you, I'm … really very good with computers. I don't make a habit of hacking classified websites but … you are very important to me."

This tasted of the truth and John, well-schooled in field interrogation, where life and death hung in the balance, trusted it. He felt a constriction he'd barely known was squeezing his heart, give way. He'd been fooled in the past. By Mark Snow, his handler, by Kara Stanton, his partner; people close to him had betrayed him. Each of them had successfully hidden their intent from him. But these were people whose auras were laden with layers of practiced deceit, difficult to parse. Harold was a sun-filled cloudless sky by comparison.

John sighed and kissed his omega's wet forehead. He closed his eyes with pleasure when Harold moved as close as he could to hug him.


	7. Chapter 7

Nathan Ingram's public persona was affable and his confidence level enabled him to socialize smoothly with other alphas but he privately dismissed females of his breed as nature's mistake, lower than beta males. The presence of a womb, in his estimation, was a weakening trait. He would never stoop to putting it in crude terms for public consumption, but in his mind power belonged to the male procreative function.

It was difficult for him to take Alicia Corwin seriously. Difficult not to picture her naked, or pregnant, or both. He'd been invited to DC to meet with an agency director at the NSA and was frankly surprised to be ushered into the woman's office. The pleasant stirrings of an erection brought a slight smile to his face as he tried to attend to what she was saying. She was a fine-looking woman, must be close to Olivia's age. Not young but still … doable. It would be very hot to see her loosen up a little.

"To sum up, Mr Ingram, we're very interested in learning more about your firm's AI research. We believe that it could have applications useful to the intelligence community."

"Really?" he said. "That's not the direction we're moving in. The government's interest is flattering but the research we're doing is in the earliest developmental stages and our company's focus is in the private sector."

"Your partner, Harold Finch, I understand he's the innovator of this project." Nathan's smile disappeared. "Perhaps he could be present the next time we talk? I'd be fascinated to meet such a rare omega," she said, and a faint arch of her eyebrow suggested that she would find his presence pleasurable.

"Sorry to disappoint you. It's very unlikely he would attend. My partner is an extremely private person. I handle meetings of this nature on behalf of our firm."

What was she up to? He'd never let her near him. Harold wasn't some bauble he'd produce for her entertainment. Not that she could lure him. Harold was safely beyond mating, Nathan thought, close to forty. He'd never shown even the slightest signs of interest. He was an eccentric omega whose passion in life was his career, who was more comfortable with computers than with people. Nathan had always looked after him and would continue to see to it that nothing threatened him. His friend would never want for companionship, for family; he would be given every freedom to pursue his work and all the respect he deserved. And he would remain single. If the government thought they could swoop in and scoop him up with some spinsterish alpha female as bait, they were very much mistaken.

He headed back to New York feeling a new uneasiness about Harold's vacation. In the wake of his meeting with Corwin, he couldn't help asking himself why he hadn't taken the precaution of arranging a traveling companion to oversee Harold in China. He'd grown used to Harold's single status, his indifference to mating and become lax. The workplace safeguards were rote at this point. He'd thought the dangerous years were behind them.

He was fairly certain that female plumbing, in any breed, dried up from disuse and he knew for a fact that his friend was untouched … since he'd touched him, himself. It must be twenty years ago. Impossible; it was pure paranoia to worry that in the midst of lectures and panel discussions about birds with a bunch of middle-aged beta scientists that Harold Finch would suddenly feel the urge to mate.

 

***

Root forced herself to smile when the flight attendant asked her to trade seats to accommodate a newly-bonded couple.

"Thank you so much, Dr Groves," Harold said when he saw she was the one giving up the seat.

"No problem, Harold. Congratulations," she said, looking only at him. "I hope you'll stay in touch when we get back to the city." She studiously avoided making eye contact with the loathsome alpha. The only good takeaway from the entire encounter was that he must have said nothing to Harold about her spying. Probably to keep from drawing attention to his own. Harold's manner toward her seemed unchanged. Why or for how long that would last, she didn't know, but she wasn't giving up. She couldn't give up. His work was too important and her need to see more of it was paramount.

 

***

Nathan was amused at first to see that Harold had sent him a heavily encrypted email using a secured account. His only other missive from China had been on a low level "family" account that served for general purposes. It had been every bit as boring as Nathan anticipated, as he would have characterized Harold's entire trip. His first thought when he saw the subject line of the new email, Important News, was that Harold had discovered a new sub species of bird and considered it top secret information.

He was back in the city at the office, a drink in hand, charmed by the thought of his rare little bird discovering some winged-this or that in China.

Dear Nathan,

Something extraordinary has happened. I would have shared my news sooner but events have unfolded swiftly and with a complexity that defied a simple phone call or email. Through a series of both unfortunate and very fortunate events, I have met the alpha I believe was meant for me and we have bonded. He's an American, in China on vacation. We met in the countryside while he was camping and I was on a field trip with a group of scientists from the conference. His name is John Riley. He's a security consultant, originally from Colorado.

The unfortunate event I made reference to was the failure of my hormone implant. The fortunate event, of course, was meeting John. I truly believe the hand of fate guided us to one another. I realize this is an impossibly romantic idea and yet I cannot imagine a more perfect mate for me.

I hope you will be happy for us. I'm looking forward to coming home, introducing him to the family, and getting back to work.

love to you and Olivia and Will,  
Harold

Nathan's rage thundered through him. He lifted the heavy crystal glass with its splash of scotch and threw it. His assistant appeared in the doorway, alarmed by the loud thud against the wall. Her fear calmed him, affirming his power. The flutter of her fright, the concern and admiration in her posture was arousing. This ripe beta female had only been working for him for a few months and he was still enjoying the novelty of her body. His standards for a personal assistant were exacting and she'd proven herself to be intelligent, efficient, and skilled. Worthy of his sexual attention.

"Come in and close the door," he told her, suppressing all thought of Harold for the moment. He was good at this. His friend occupied a complicated and well-guarded place in his heart, in his mind. He loved him, revered him. He envied him and desired him. All of his feelings were kept carefully contained in order to shield Harold … and to free himself.

 

***

At the Beijing International Airport, Rick Dillinger chugged a last beer, scanning the crowd from his seat in the Heineken mini bar. The job had gone south but not completely down the drain. His bank account looked better than it had a month ago and this last detail was his ticket back to the states. He'd be on the flight with Shrimp Puff, the name he'd given Harold in his mind, get a few pics, make a few notes.

Should have been me, he thought, watching the way the alpha never let the shrimp get more than arm's reach away from him. Bet he's banging the hell out of that puff, Dillinger mused. He'd been looking too long, with a little too much mustard and the alpha's flare was a scorcher. He ducked his head in deference, cursing softly to himself and wondered if the asshole was getting paid or had just gotten lucky.

If the puff had just stayed where he was supposed to, in that killer suite, Dillinger would have shown him what a real alpha was all about. He didn't know how the heat was being triggered but he'd been told when the target was guaranteed to be ready for mating; or in Dillinger's mind, juicy and ready for pounding. Dillinger had been primed, pass key in hand, his dick, raring to go, but the suite was empty. He'd been left high and dry and so horny that visiting a hooker seemed like a much better idea than trying to figure out where the fuck the target had disappeared to.

 

***

Twelve hours, that's how long the flight would last, and in his mind the prospect wasn't unpleasant with John by his side, a virtual stack of books in his reader, meals to be enjoyed and perhaps a cocktail of some sort somewhere along the line. He was feeling relaxed about the trip home now that he'd finally composed and sent his email to Nathan; a weight off his mind.

Seat belts were buckled and Harold was delighted to have John take his hand as the plane taxied. The symbols were lit red above for various amenities and activities. They'd turn green once the plane was in flight. Harold's eyes lingered on the restroom symbols. The seat belt was exerting an odd pressure across his lower belly. He didn't need to pee but it occurred to him that his panties needed adjusting. He was finding this style of underwear more troublesome than boxers. He wiggled slightly to try to relieve the pressure on his penis and was embarrassed to find that not only was it not helpful, the pressure was becoming arousing. He was getting an erection and equally disconcerting … his movements had caused a fluid rush that made the thick pad he'd used for extra protection slide in a deliciously teasing way against his vagina.

"Harold," John said quietly, lifting his hand up to kiss. "We'll be in the air soon. Stop … wiggling." John sounded more amused than upset. His rough whispery voice and the feel of his lips on the back of his hand made Harold melt a little and he ceased struggling in his seat. He relaxed into the sensations of take-off and tried to ignore the gentle throb between his legs.

He had observed on the flight from New York to Beijing couples passing by on their way to or from their designated restroom and didn't think about what they did in there any more than he speculated about what singles did in the privacy of the bathroom. Of course, in both cases he generally knew but it wasn't the kind of thing one thought about. Until now, when he saw the lights turn green and suddenly wondered which restroom he should go to.

"I really should go and … adjust myself," he told John, apologetic about making him get up to let him out of his seat. "I don't think it's the sort of thing that requires both of us. If the flight attendant comes by, would you ask him for some tea for me, please."

"I'll do the adjusting," John said, with a faint look of amusement. If it weren't also an affectionate look Harold might have found it a little insulting, a little condescending; then it dawned on him what John meant by adjusting and Harold felt a blush climb his throat and burn his cheeks.

John was already standing in the aisle, holding his hand out to him.

To Harold's relief, no one took any particular notice of them whatsoever though there was a tall male alpha they had to pass rather closely in the aisle. Harold heard him mumble, "Sorry," to John and hurry to squeeze past.

***

His omega was seated on the toilet with his pants down to his knees. John saw him trying to discreetly change the pad in his underwear. He took a quick look at the phone he'd lifted off the blond guy before he pocketed it. Way too many pictures of Harold.

There'd been a time when he would have put this fucker down without a second thought and found a way to hide or disguise the body. He had only to look at his omega to know he couldn't do that now. Maybe later, when they landed. He couldn't do anything now that would disturb or endanger Harold. Harold, whose cheeks flamed at the subject of sex, who was unfailingly kind and spoke as if he sat up at night looking for big words in the dictionary. Harold, who could hack the CIA and loved birds; the person whose face and body were now John's definition of beauty.

This omega had mysteriously been given to him by a universe he could have sworn had a cold, empty heart. He'd be damned if he'd let anything or anyone harm him … or even disrupt his pleasure.

The omega's arousal during take-off had charmed him as much as it turned him on. He couldn't let him go now without … adjusting him.

The restroom space was limited but well-designed. Not ideal but it was an amenity provided by international airlines for bonded alphas, traveling with their mates. More of a nod to power, John had always thought, as an unbonded alpha, than a necessity. He'd always found that in need a way could be found, regardless of the amenities, but he was happy enough to take advantage of the privilege now that it was accorded to him.

Harold looked faintly scandalized by the padded shelf John folded down from the wall over the toilet. Not long enough to lay full length on, just to support the head, back and hips, with stirrups for the feet.

"I suppose it's sanitary," Harold said, frowning, when John rolled the paper down to cover it.

"I'm sure it is, Harold. Come here." He lifted him up onto it. "Lie back and hold the hand straps." The omega obeyed, gripping the straps mounted in the walls to either side, but he didn't look happy. John freed him from his shoes and neatly hung up his trousers. He put the panties aside.

"This feels a little too reminiscent of a doctor's visit, John."

"Not for long," he assured him. "I promise."

He surveyed his mate's exposed body. With his heels in the stirrups, his legs bent and spread, he was an almost painfully erotic sight. John stroked his thighs and held them steady. Harold drew an audible breath. John bent forward, still supporting his legs, to suck the little cock that had been so restless. It had become soft but began to swell in his mouth as he gently sucked. He let it go to lick the plump balls. He nudged them with his nose and moved lower down to reach the pouting cunt with his tongue. Now his omega was making sweet sounds, pushing against the stirrups to press himself to John's mouth.

Time to linger and luxuriate would have been John's preference but this was good. He resisted tying, enjoying the feel of his swollen knot pressing between the soft cheeks of Harold's butt with each thrust. When Harold came, a beautiful thing to see as well as feel, it was enough to wring John's orgasm from him.

He helped him to wash and watched him tidy himself back into the freshly padded panties, into his crisply tailored pants.

On the way back to their seats he heard the flight attendant tell the blond motherfucker that he'd let him know if anyone found a phone. John wanted to stop and recommend the guy hold his breath until then.


	8. Chapter 8

The small apartment building on Madison Avenue was a good match for Harold, John thought. The nineteenth century building was luxuriously updated without disturbing its historic character. Along this midtown stretch the older buildings were interspersed modern galleries, restaurants and high end retail. It reflected the way John saw Harold, traditional tastes put together by a modern stylist.

Tired as he seemed when they arrived, Harold stopped to talk to the doormen and concierge, as well as the security officer in the lobby. He introduced them to John, faintly blushing when he drew attention to his new bonded status. The middle-aged beta males were respectful but John could see they were surprised by this upset of the status quo and reserving judgement; displaying a level of protection toward Harold that was within the appropriate range but reflected some personal affection. That was good … he wanted them to look at him and any other stranger with suspicion, not easy acceptance. There were too few cameras for the amount of space, a decent amount of staff for a residence but none of them looked up to anything more demanding than dialing 911.

"Nathan has an apartment here as well," Harold said. "His city address. The family lives on Long Island." Why the downcast eyes when he spoke about Nathan, John wondered. What was their history? Alphas were the emperors of business and industry. Typically they partnered in name with betas or headed mixed boards. Two alphas working together would be rare, but John thought it was just as rare to find a partnership like Harold's and Nathan's.

"Do you work closely?" he asked him. Harold's eyebrows lifted and he seemed to consider the question.

"Not in … physical proximity, if that's what you're asking. We're close friends. I've known him since college. His wife and son are like family to me."

College and then business together. What else, was the question, but it could wait.

The elevator opened into a private foyer that opened into Harold's apartment. High ceilings, neutral, comfortable furniture. Understated.

"I know it's absurd," Harold said, leading him through the apartment to show him the various rooms, the tour ending in a largish master bedroom, "but I'm feeling a little nervous now that we're in my home, my bedroom … our bedroom."

John wasn't sure what he'd expected but this was a spare, masculine space. The bed wasn't huge but looked inviting, white linens, charcoal duvet. The hardwoods were dark, there was little decoration other than a large painting of … birds. It looked Chinese, very old and … expensive. The muted tones were gentle and the painting exquisite, even to his untrained eye.

"Song dynasty," Harold said. "Or so the dealer claimed. If it were painted yesterday I'd still love it." He sounded tired.

John was accustomed to making himself at home anywhere, under any conditions, but he suspected Harold was used to routine and to solitude; he was set in his ways. The whole apartment reflected a comfortable but spartan existence. John thought his clothes, a few pieces of artwork, were his main indulgences; there were also quite a few books.

It would be easier for Harold when they were in bed, he thought, a familiar context that needed no explanations or commentary.

He did his own tour of the place while Harold was getting unpacked and washing up. He swept the apartment for bugs, trackers; physically inspected for devices. The place was clean. This surprised him, given the level of surveillance Harold had been under in Beijing. The woman, the … guy. His lip curled slightly, involuntarily, in distaste. He had left the guy slumped in the restroom after getting everything there was to get out of him. He considered him lucky to be alive. In serious need of medical attention but the flight crew had probably found him in time … or not.

He'd gotten his chance to interrogate the alpha when Leon Tao wandered up to chat with Harold late in the flight. John saw Dillinger heading for the bathroom and followed him. On his way back to Harold, John worked on his breathing to dull himself down and by the time he returned he was steady. It wasn't the violence he needed to calm. He was trained for that. He needed to calm the flare that protected the very new and very tender place inside him where Harold now lived. It was a skill he needed to learn, a facade to cultivate, he had to learn to live with this … vulnerability.

 

He had an important piece of information. The failure of Harold's implant had been no accident. Someone wanted it to fail. Dillinger didn't know who and he had no connection to the alpha female, Dr Groves. John still had the phone and he hoped to plumb it for possible leads to follow. Tomorrow. It occurred to him that a person capable of hacking the CIA might be able to learn a lot more from Rick Dillinger's phone than he could. It would involve exposing Harold to things he'd rather keep him insulated from but he had to consider it. He would consider it, but not tonight.

Tonight's work was feathering this nest with his scent and soothing his ruffled omega. Soothing himself, he could admit. He needed to free himself from the vision Rick Dillinger presented, of how events might have unfolded if circumstances hadn't brought Harold to him, if he hadn't been there when Harold needed him.

Someone wanted to control Harold, manipulate him.

They didn't succeed, he told himself. I'm here with him now. 

Harold was standing by the bed, looking uncertain and very appealing in a pair of fine silk pajamas. Just like the ones he'd worn at the hospital … the ones now being worn somewhere by a half pint alpha. John didn't like the idea. No one should possess something so intimate of Harold's. He tolerated it, reminding himself of how young the alpha was and how much in need.

"Do you have a favorite side of the bed, John?" Harold asked him.

"Which side do you like?"

"Well, this is the side I usually sleep on." He indicated the right hand side where there was a book and a box of tissues by the lamp.

"Then that's where we'll sleep."

He'd meant it to tease him but the bed could have been a single for all the space they took up together. John woke up once to feel Harold kicking off the bottoms of his pajamas and again to the touch of his fingers on his cock, guiding it between his legs. Dream-like fucking in the middle of the night; Harold backed up into John's arms, rocking against him, the sounds he made like cooing, like sighing. In the morning when he woke he was on his back, the omega was sprawled over him like a blanket.

Mine, John thought, stroking Harold's back and down over the soft skin of his ass.

 

***

Harold was determined to get back to work, back to the office, to prove to himself that he hadn't been reduced to some cliched omegan existence consisting of sex, more sex, producing offspring, more sex, and so on.

John had gone out in search of coffee and pastry and Harold took advantage of the alone time to shower and dress. He wanted to present his intent to go to work as a fait accompli, not be tempted to do something like sit in John's lap and be fed pastry.

Don't think about John's lap, he told himself … and added … or anything else in that area.

He'd chosen a light wool suit with a hint of silk. The color, a deep brown verging on black, made him think of wet tree bark. A slightly melancholy shade that evoked late autumn, which he noted they were quickly approaching. He felt a twinge of sadness for the migratory bird sightings he was missing. He fixed the knot in his tie, also dark but livened by specks of blue and heard the front door opening.

"Harold?"

"Yes, I'm here. I'm almost ready." He opened his drawer of glasses and chose a pair with a heavier, solid frame. The wire rims were put aside. These, he thought, fit the mood and flavor of the suit. He studied the effect in the wardrobe mirror and thought he looked tidy, serious, ready-for-work. He saw John at the doorway and turned to him. "How do I look?"

John leaned back against the jamb and looked him up and down, slowly. Harold hadn't counted on such a thorough or warm inspection. He tugged at his vest and brushed invisible lint from his lapel, resisting a growing desire to remove all the clothing he'd just put on.

"You look very good."

"All … right. Now, please stop looking," he said. "I honestly need to get back to work today."

"Talk to me about your work, Harold."

"Really?" he asked, sparked by John's interest.

"Yes."

 

***

John listened. He found it helpful to look away from him from time to time as he listened and to feed his desire to consume Harold with … chocolate croissant. He chased it with strong coffee. And listened.

"It's been my life's work, really. Inspired by my dad. I believe this technology can ultimately be adapted to enhance memory for people suffering from Alzheimer's, certain types of brain damage."

"So the project you're working on," John said, "would be of great interest to the pharmaceutical industry." Now he did look at Harold, feeling another piece of the puzzle trying to fall into place.

"It has no pharmaceutical component. No drugs are involved; this would be a completely different kind of treatment."

"Harold, once upon a time gas companies moved to control electricity when they saw the technology shifting. Who manufactures the implant you had that failed?"

"You can't possibly think there's a connection." John knew it was time and met Harold's blinking blue-eyed gaze with as much steadiness as he could offer.

"I know there was. The tall blond alpha, on the plane."

"The one who was in the aisle?" Harold frowned, looking confused.

"I forced that … stumble to get his phone because I saw him taking pictures of you. I figured him for another corporate spy."

"Another? Couldn't he have been the hacker?"

"The hacker was most likely your friend, Dr Groves. I didn't find any connection between her and the guy, but I know he was part of a plan to … exert influence on you when the implant failed. What I don't know is who's behind it."

John hated this, seeing his omega's alarm, watching the dawning horror in his eyes. Some of that horror, he suspected, would attach to him for hiding this information. So be it, he thought, resigned to it. If he could have safeguarded Harold without ever letting him know the nature of the threats, he would have kept it all from him. Not possible now that he understood the implications of Harold's work. Companies might routinely spy to get ahead of their competition but this was something more sinister than spying on Harold's research.

"How long, John. How long have you known these things?"

"About Dr Groves, since I found the devices she planted in your hotel room. I was watching and waiting for her to make another move, which she didn't, beyond trying to sit next to you on the plane. I think she's … interested in your work, interested in you. Not the same level of threat." He saw Harold's fear subsiding and he breathed easier.

"There was something about her," he said. "Something off. Mainly that she didn't seem to be very interested in birds, but she didn't feel dangerous. She was very cordial. But … the implant, how could that be? How could they even know where I'd be, what I would do. I never even noticed that man before we saw him on the plane. He was … was he supposed to present himself to me as an alpha to mate?"

That's one way of putting it, John thought, calmed by the mental image of the man slumped on the bathroom floor. Harold was looking off into space, John could see the wheels spinning. When he looked back at John there was fresh color in his cheeks.

"Do you still have the phone?" he asked. John nodded and fished it out of his back pocket. Harold took the device and briefly glanced back up at him as he turned it on. "I'm aware of your need to protect me, John, it's endemic to your breed."

"It's not a disease, Harold." He hid a smile.

"I urge you to keep it in check. I may be an omega but I'm not helpless."

"I see that." John did see it and he loved everything he saw.

Watching Harold work with the phone and his laptop in concert reminded John of how he'd tried to envision him during the struggle to control his urges in the little RV. That image he'd tried to summon up had come to life. Harold's expression was rapt, passionate; his touch was light and swift on the keyboard.

"Virtanen manufactures the implant. The question, well, one of the questions is how the implant failed. I wish I had it to examine … but, it would appear the simplest way to trigger a failure would be … a signal to the chip."

"Could it be done remotely?"

"Yes," Harold sighed. "Only the manufacturer has that capability, the information." He looked up from the screen at John. "I'm afraid you may be right, John. But, if their aim was to … control me somehow, they failed. I found you."

"Before we start thanking them … what can you find about their involvement with memory drugs?" Harold looked back at his screen and his fingertips flew on the keys.

"Virtanen appears to be deeply invested in cognition enhancing drugs. In fact, they're currently awaiting FDA approval of a brand new one. But … if they wanted to appropriate my work, John," he said, turning to him. "They'd have to do more than physically dominate me. My research belongs to IFT, not to me personally. Virtanen couldn't swallow us whole."

"What would your partner give to retrieve you from a rogue alpha?"

"Blackmail Nathan? That's insane."

"Insane or not, Harold, the implant didn't fail by accident. The best way to find out who engineered the failure is tracing Dillinger's contacts."


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ever since I read Astolat's awesome story, Sheathed, (one of many, many awesome stories by Astolat) I've wanted to work the concept into one of my own. Finally found the place for a sheath in this chapter. See Astolat's story here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/782289

Olivia Ingram flinched from Nathan's image on the screen.

"All I asked is if you'd seen Harold yet," she said. She could feel his anger as if it were radiating all the way from Manhattan. Maybe in person she'd have been able to calm him. Poor Harold, she thought.

Once upon a time she'd been jealous of Harold Finch. It hurt to be Nathan's second choice, or at least he'd led her to believe she was, with his taunting. "If Harold was ready to fuck do you think I'd have looked at you?" he used to tease her, but she'd come to realize it wasn't a matter of Nathan's choice, not really. It was true, in a sense, that Nathan chose by being too impatient to wait, that Harold was immature sexually. But at the heart of the storied bond that never happened, was Harold's choice. He didn't want Nathan, and that was what goaded her husband. She believed the only reason Harold had ever let Nathan in his bed was to be kind. She'd let go of it. Nathan was hers for better or worse. He was a powerful alpha who freely exercised his right to dominate, socially and sexually. Her jealousy of Harold had given way to appreciating him for the fact that he never bowed to Nathan and was so loving toward her and her son.

The news that he'd mated was startling but joyful. She was eager talk to him, hear about John Riley, plan a wedding. She tried to imagine how difficult it must be after so many years of single life to cope with a mate and wanted to offer him some support.

"Please be gentle with him, Nathan," she urged. "Whatever happened, it's not Harold's fault. This isn't a betrayal."

"Of course it is," he said. His voice was cold in spite of the heat of his anger. "My friend Harold kept his legs crossed for twenty years, he should have picked up the phone and called me before he opened them to a stranger. I could have been there in twelve hours."

Olivia stared at his image, the old pain reawakened.

"Do I need to remind you that you're already bonded, Nathan Ingram. If Harold wanted you, he would have chosen you a long time ago." There, she thought, I can also be cruel. His face was stone.

"He didn't need to bond, Olivia, he needed to be fucked, but thank you for your expert analysis. What matters now is my company. I'm not going to partner with some rogue alpha who sniffed out a lucky break."

She had read Harold's email. There was nothing in it to suggest that John Riley was a rogue alpha, that he'd taken Harold by force. Harold had sounded enamored, happy. She didn't say this now. Nathan seemed primed for cruelty, the heat of his anger banking dangerously.

"I'll try to call him later," she said, hoping to placate.

"Don't interfere," he warned. "I've got my lawyers on it and a specialist on standby to nullify the bond." He glanced to the side and she heard his assistant's voice, though not what she said. "Harold's in the building … with the alpha," Nathan said, and Olivia saw the flare breaking through. "We'll talk later."

"Gentle, Nathan," she urged again as the screen went blank.

 

***

"Hans, I can't thank you enough for this." Harold's tailor had accommodated an emergency visit. Harold wanted to outfit his alpha for the upcoming meeting at IFT. When he'd realized that returning to work by himself was not an option, Harold decided that John needed to be presented in the correct light.

"The suit you're wearing is nice, John, for a … hired assassin, but we need to put you in something on par with Nathan Ingram."

Harold had gotten a text from Caleb Phipps, the beta who headed his research team. *Nathan on the warpath. Meeting at 1 PM.*

Warpath? It was worse than he'd feared. He'd heard nothing from his partner since the email. He eyed the finishing touches that Hans's ladies were putting on the navy suit; classic with the pristine white shirt. His alpha looked … extraordinary. He stood tall before the dressing room mirror, as still as could be while the omega seamstresses fussed around him.

There was something Harold realized, watching him accommodate the women. For all his power, Harold had never seen John intimate by action or expression any dominant gesture with other breeds. He'd seen him nudge other alphas but he'd been very mild with betas and omegas. Even toward these women, arguably occupying the lowest rung (despite how talented they were, in his opinion) he was respectful. Thinking back, Harold couldn't remember seeing him display any of the casual dominance he was used to seeing alphas employ. It made him feel like … choosing him all over again.

"Harold, if you keep looking at me that way we're going need … some privacy," John said.

"A sheath, perhaps," Hans suggested, with artful beta deference. Harold's gaze dropped to the inner thigh of John's trousers, the line now distorted by his erection.

"Oh my. I think you're right, Hans." Harold felt an odd pride in his alpha's virility, even though it sent a hot blush to his cheeks. It was much too blatantly on display. To John he said, "I know it's not what you're used to, but … "

"Do your worst," John sighed, and his cock seemed to take the cue to behave.

Harold smiled, in spite of himself. He actually loved the thought of John wearing a sheath. It was something of an alpha affectation but Harold liked the added touch of gentlemanly tailoring as much as he liked the nicety of harnessing his alpha's genitals. John's erections shouldn't be shared openly with the eyes of others. The subtle shape, restrained, would be appropriate. He looked away discreetly to allow the ladies to fit him, button the shaft into a sleeve and tether it.

As they prepared to leave, Harold took in the full effect of his alpha and his knees felt weak. He had to look down, almost overwhelmed by the urge to kneel in front of him and press his face into the V of his thighs. It wasn't the suit. The suit was beautiful but it was … superfluous. What radiated from John had nothing to do with clothing. It was the energy that had drawn Harold off the path he'd intended to walk, through thickets of weeds and tall grasses, to find him lying on the ground in his rough clothes. So powerful.

Nathan had no idea what he was about to encounter on the warpath. Harold knew which alpha he'd walk away with if it came to a choice. He prayed his old friend would not force his hand. 

 

***

 

John didn't mind the trip to the atelier. It was worth standing like a scarecrow and being stuck with pins to make Harold happy. It was a good suit. The sheath was … fine. If Harold had asked him to lock his dick in a cage and let him keep the key, John would have done it and looked forward to his mate's deft fingers unlocking him.

"Is it comfortable enough?" Harold asked him in the car as they were driven across town to the IFT offices.

John liked the way the sheath drew Harold's attention. It only allowed his cock to stiffen along his thigh. The back strap was snug at the base of his balls … an interesting sensation.

"It's nice," he said, lifting Harold's hand from the seat beside him to kiss. He guided the hand down to his thigh to see the color rise in Harold's cheeks but stopped short of stroking it along his cock. There were limits with the car pulling up to the curb. He was happy enough to see the warm rush, to feel it in his omega's aura.

The IFT building was a massive steel and glass structure. It was ostentatiously set back from the street, proclaiming the power to waste space. A massive geometric sculpture dominated the outdoor plaza. John's general impression was that this was not a place Harold belonged.

Where he did seem to belong was a flight below the penthouse level. Here, when the elevator opened, there was a hum of activity and people looked up to see them, to greet Harold warmly and eye John with cautious curiosity. Harold's office was at the far end with a commanding view of Sixth Avenue, but John saw a bank of monitors he thought probably commanded more of Harold's attention.

A tall, lanky, young beta male hung a little bit distant outside the office door, shifting uneasily, wanting Harold's attention but shy of approaching John.

"Come in," John said, and Harold looked around.

"Caleb, don't be shy. This is John Riley. John, this is Caleb Phipps, my brilliant head of research."

"Congratulations," Caleb said, a little awkwardly, and John smiled to see that for once it was someone other than Harold blushing. "It's almost one o'clock, Harold."

"I know, I know. I just wanted to see everyone and everyone to see that I'm … all right."

"You are," Caleb said, and John read relief and affection in the young beta's face. "The place has been buzzing like crazy. No one ever thought, well, you know what people thought." He hazarded a brave glance at John, who encouraged him.

"I don't bite."

"I'm afraid that Mr Ingram does," Caleb said softly. "You'd better get upstairs, Harold."

So, John thought, these were Harold's people. Afraid to see him in trouble with his partner. He felt the warmth of a protective flare. Harold felt it too and glanced at him.

"Let's make this a friendly meeting, John."

"I'll play nice, I promise," he assured him, calming himself with a hand on Harold's shoulder as they entered the elevator.

"Thank you," Harold said. He reached up to caress the hand on his shoulder and John felt a soothing sweetness flow from him. He enjoyed this for the short ride up one flight. Then the doors opened to the ugly scent of a rage-filled alpha, in full display. John deflected it, blocking effortlessly, as they stepped out of the elevator. What surprised him was Harold's silvery radiance beside him. He raised an eyebrow at him, feeling his energy like a shield on his arm. Harold was focused on Nathan.

John was unimpressed by the alpha's recklessness, throwing everything he had without much control. He wondered how long it had been since the man had done more than threaten or bully underlings. He was a tall guy, fair-haired, a little soft; standing in the middle of a meeting area where it looked like he'd been holding forth. His audience, a number of uncomfortable-looking men in suits were seated on the couches around him. Beta lawyers, John thought, assessing the briefcases and stacks of paperwork on the low tables. There was a bar to the side, but this was not that kind of gathering. He noted a female beta in the distance, trying to make herself small at her desk.

"Nathan," Harold's voice, astonished, "what is all this?"

"Step away from him now, Harold," the man said, throwing his power into his voice. "The papers are drawn up. There's a room ready for you at Mt. Sinai to dissolve this bond." Nathan's flare was sizable but John continued to deflect it easily.

"No Nathan," Harold said evenly. "That is certainly not going to happen."

Nathan looked at John, making dangerous direct eye contact. "You can't have this omega."

"Are you … challenging me," John said. He couldn't completely hide the savage joy this lit inside him, his lips curling in a slight smile. It would feel good to put Nathan Ingram on the ground. 

"Please, no," Harold begged, and John stilled himself. "I chose him Nathan. I want him. It's done. There's no reason to challenge him."

"This company is my reason. You are my reason. Do you think I'll allow some rogue to claim what I've worked so hard to build? To claim you … after all the years I've devoted to you?"

John did not respond well to this. He bled a warning at Nathan and watched him stagger back. It would be so easy to force him down.

"You promised," Harold said, stepping in front of him. John felt the lure of Harold's wide blue eyes, not hidden but enhanced by his serious glasses. He tamped down the warning and breathed in his omega. He didn't need to bring Nathan to his knees or humiliate him. The man was no match for him and Harold was too precious to upset with an unnecessary display.

"I did promise." John felt Harold's approval like a shimmer passing through him. He looked up at Nathan who lowered his head in deference. "I don't want your company," he told him. "Or to make you grovel, but you need to know there is a threat. I think we can let these people go and we'll talk. I give you my respect," John said, "for keeping Harold safe until I could find him." Nathan raised his head, eyes meeting John's with some surprise and relief.

 

***

Mark Lawson slunk from his father-in-law's office, red-faced and cowed. The old bull had made him prostrate himself in front of the whole board. He could still taste the rug on his lips and tongue. He'd thought nothing could be worse than the flavor of Keller's shoe leather. This was worse.

His future had looked bright when he married Virginia Keller, the mighty Robert Keller's daughter. But the old alpha was giving up nothing, his ancient hands in a death grip on the reins. He stuck it to Lawson every chance he got. Now he was blaming him for the fiasco in China. The agent Lawson hired for the job had come highly recommended through the customary channels. Why was it his fault the guy fucked up?

The old man won't live forever, he thought. Virtanen would be his and he'd watch others kiss the floor.


	10. Chapter 10

Harold watched the lawyers clear out. Filing past, each one nodded an obeisance toward John. His alpha wasn't taking over IFT but he'd taken the room with a vengeance. Even Nathan's assistant looked to John, questioning if she should also go. He nodded. Nathan looked away. She gathered her things and hurried out.

When the three of them were alone, Harold headed toward the bar. He drank on rare occasions … and this seemed to be one. He felt like he'd survived an ordeal, summoned up reserves he didn't know he had in him.

"I believe I need a drink," he announced quietly, as he poured a finger of amber liquid.

The barley notes in the scotch, just barely sipped, were soothing. He followed the sip with a small swallow and the warmth of the liquor spread going down. The flavor lingered pleasantly on his lips and tongue. Maybe alcohol really is liquid courage, he thought, and felt ready to turn around and face the alphas. The two of them were gazing at him; Nathan, like he was a puzzle -- John, like he wanted to lick the scotch from his lips.

"What?" Harold said, looking from one to the other. "Am I the only one who feels like we just walked through a minefield?" 

He saw some of the tension go out of Nathan, his head cocked to the side, a more familiar look returning to his eyes; no more display, no cowering … just Nathan.

"Harold, you never cease to amaze me," he said. "I'd hug you right now if I didn't think it might get me killed. I haven't seen you take a drink since last Christmas."

"It hasn't been quite that long," Harold said. "John, I'll share this one with you." He poured a glass for Nathan, neat. He added a touch more scotch to his own glass and dropped in a couple of cubes he fished from the ever present bucket of ice.

 

***

The dynamic of the partners had been a question mark for John. The meeting filled in some answers. Nathan took the lead in discussion but deferred to Harold's decisions. John could see that it was a longstanding friendship by the shorthand they used when they touched on subjects they must have talked out a hundred times before, like the prestige of their company.

There was more passion, more attraction in the equation on Nathan's side. It was contained and John was able to tolerate it though he felt restless, balancing his desire for Harold with the need to key in on the discussion. He got up to wander as he listened. He carried the drink with him to taste Harold on the rim of the glass through the scotch.

Nathan wanted to sue Virtanen for the failure of the implant. He projected estimated damages and the effects of the negative publicity. "We may not be able to prove the malicious intent," he'd said, "but this would do some damage to their reputation and hit them financially."

"If we sue there will be depositions," Harold had countered. "Court appearances. I'll be exhibit A, Nathan. I'm afraid that if we go that route we'll suffer as much as they will. IFT will look vulnerable because I'm an omega. A suit for implant failure would have to be a class action to have a real impact and I haven't been able to find any evidence of significant failure."

"Because you were the only target," John spoke up. "We find out who was responsible and a way to hurt them." Nathan nodded, agreeing more than deferring, which suited John. He had no desire to dominate him, at least not where his business was concerned.

A plan emerged; John would pose as an investor to get inside the Virtanen offices, plant surveillance, get a look at and feel for the upper echelon players and a tour of the facilities. For this he would rely heavily on Harold's presence in his ear.

One other resolution came out of the meeting. One John agreed to even though he privately thought it was a waste of time. Harold was set on having him contact Leon Tao's wife, a private investigator, to assist him. "He said she's very good, very successful and I'd feel better knowing you have some kind of back up."

John found it difficult to imagine Leon Tao's wife being someone that could be of any help to him but he was more than willing to please Harold by agreeing.

 

***

 

Harold had never closed the privacy shades in his office but when he and John went back downstairs he saw they'd been drawn and in their absence a very large and somewhat crude-looking but, no doubt well-meant, bonding wreath had been hung. It was both horrifying in a way to see this trite symbol of fertility stuck to his office door and touching that his guys had figured out how to create what looked like the traditional sheafs of wheat out of office supplies.

"We should have done something before, Harold," Caleb said, hurrying to meet him as they approached. "We're not good at this kind of thing and everybody was afraid, well, you know what we were afraid of. It should have been something … more worthy."

"Please, no explanation is needed. It's very sweet. I guess it's what we're supposed to do, a … bonding party. Why don't you call Pietro's and have them deliver whatever people would like for a celebration. I'm grateful, really." Caleb fixed him with a suddenly serious look.

"Honestly, Harold. Everyone here is more happy for you than we can say." And relieved, no doubt, Harold thought, that Nathan's threats had been neutralized. Harold knew how quickly news spread.

Despite the drawn shades Harold felt shy alone in his office with John, self conscious with the privacy given to them so expressly for a sexual purpose. Most omegas, he was aware, wouldn't be given this sort of consideration at work, indeed, they'd be expected to stop working once they bonded. Their alpha mates would be the ones given privacy for spousal visits. Harold had no intention of giving up his work. John had given him no indication he expected it.

"Harold, how do you watch all these screens at the same time?" John was sitting at his desk, eyes roaming the stacked monitors.

Harold stood next to him, he looked at him, not entirely comfortable with someone, even his alpha, occupying his chair. John received the unspoken message and got up, giving him his place.

"I don't use them all with the same level of attention," he explained, and John leaned forward to look at the screens with him. "I prioritize them. Different tasks, different information. The most immediate is here." He pointed. "Supplemental programs are running at the same time here and … ah … " Harold's breath caught, feeling the touch of whispery, shivery kisses ruffling his hair. He closed his eyes, sighing. It was like a pulled thread and Harold was unraveling, he leaned his head back to offer his mouth.

There was still a hint of scotch in the kisses.

In the distance, beyond the door there were voices and now music was playing and Harold was grateful, tipping back a little in the chair, spreading his legs to John's roaming hand.

Curtains drawn to the outside world and shades drawn within; Harold's office became a space he'd never inhabited before. His small private restroom yielded a couple of towels, enough to nest in on his couch. Harold urged John to lie down there, still wearing his sheath.

"Let me look at you," he whispered. John stretched out before him was a sight that nearly overwhelmed Harold. He was more used to being the one lying open to his alpha's inspection. The long muscular body was so purely male and yet there was nothing brutish or frightening about it, as Harold had feared a man's body would seem to him; with its exaggerated phallus and hair. In his youthful experimentation with Nathan he'd been much too shy to gather more than a general impression of something ungainly between his friend's legs.

John's body's proportions seemed perfect to him, even graceful.

He lovingly fondled the trapped shaft, holstered to a muscular thigh by two straps. He stroked it in place, unbuttoning the hood to expose its head and kiss it. He felt his alpha's aura pulsing with pleasure. When he unfastened both the upper and lower tethers John made an appreciative sound, his cock rising free.

Harold was very aroused by handling him, by his scent. He rubbed the smooth head of the cock back and forth over his mouth, painting his lips with its moisture, but what he really wanted was to feel it inside him. He lifted the sheath away and stood up to slide off his underwear. John was watching him as if he was revealing something much more special than Harold thought he was showing him … but it thrilled him to be looked at that way.

The couch was barely big enough but Harold managed to straddle John's hips and slowly sink down on him. He wasn't used to this position. He struggled to rise up, his body firmly planted, until John held his hips and guided him, supported him. The alpha's strength, in his arms, his core, helped Harold establish the rhythm he needed. And then, in the midst of this beautiful rhythm … John tipped his pelvis thrusting up and at the same time he pushed Harold down. The knot slipped inside him, lodging and swelling. Harold groaned, almost angry to be stopped in the joy of fucking; he ground himself restlessly against John, needing, wanting … something. His whole lower body felt swollen and full but craved a release he couldn't find in this position. Until John grasped his swollen cock in spit-moistened fingers and Harold could push into the slippery pressure. The rubbing of his penis felt good, especially when John's grip slid down over his balls. He came hard, the joy of ejaculating triggered his vaginal muscles to contract in blissful waves.

Panting like an animal, he thought, hearing himself, trying to knit his senses back together in the wake of the powerful contractions. He was still stuck, astride his alpha. John's hands were on his hips, one of them very slick with come. The alpha was gazing up at him, his features softened with pleasure, his eyes half shut; John's hips were still rocking gently, his cock stirring in the sheath of Harold's body. Harold couldn't feel the pulses of ejaculation inside him but he knew when John's eyes closed and his mouth opened on a sigh that he was releasing sperm. This would go on a little while. Harold felt a ripple of pleasure that set off a tremor in his muscles. John uttered a soft moan and Harold was free.

By the time they left Harold's office, the party had ended and the cleaning staff was clearing away the remnants.

"Are we home yet?" Harold said. "Are we eating yet?" he asked, sinking against John in the elevator.

"Soon," John said, and Harold felt content, being held.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heterosexual activity warnings for this chapter!

Sameen had learned ways to compensate for things she didn't feel.

As a kid she'd seen her mother lay out clothes for her and her dad, make their breakfasts and send them out into the world with love notes; hers stuck in her lunch box, her dad's in his briefcase. Baffling and pointless, she'd thought then. She and her father could easily feed and dress themselves. The love notes. Why? Her mother had said, I love you, so many times there wasn't any reason to think she'd stopped day to day. Sameen didn't voice these thoughts out loud, even as a child. She'd learned very early in life to keep her opinions to herself and avoid the way her comments made her parents worry. She could incorporate certain behaviors, use them in a conscious way, when it mattered.

Leon mattered. She kept his clothes organized into daily outfits on his side of the closet. She made a pot of coffee most mornings; Leon liked to brew a pot of tea on Sundays. She always provided breakfast food of some kind, a bag of bagels or croissants, a box of donuts, something, if she wasn't around early in the morning. If she was home, she'd put a plate of scrambled eggs on the table in front of him.

She kept a stack of post-it notes with hearts printed around the edges in a kitchen drawer and at least twice a week she stuck one on the cover of his laptop. She didn't write anything on them, she figured the hearts were enough. What she felt when she did these things was a lot like what she felt when she flossed and brushed her teeth; like she was doing a necessary thing that would benefit her in the long run.

Leon was necessary and he was worth it. It didn't take much to make him happy. She'd found his collection of curled up post-its, they were all saved in a box on his desk. Every time she set a plate of eggs in front of him his face lit up. He claimed, because of her, he was the best-dressed consultant working at the Museum of Natural History.

Though her emotions might be muted Sameen's sexual feelings were vivid and real. She reveled in them.

The morning of her meeting with John Riley, she was wide awake much too early. She rolled up against Leon's back, feeling along his hip and down to his cock. She might not be able to feel much about notes with hearts on them but she felt passion for his body. He was smoothly-made with the kind of musculature that comes from good genes and a casually active lifestyle. He was blessed with butter-soft skin. It scarred easily but was exquisite to touch. She nudged him onto his back and pushed the covers away to climb up on him while he was still sleeping. She liked to be on top, facing away. As far as she was concerned, the bulge of his knot was god's gift to her, like a pleasure pad for the most sensitive part of her body. Leon made a whimpery sound when the covers were pulled away from his warm body but it was followed, as she knew it would be, by a groan of pleasure when she sank down on him.

She considered his dick perfect; beautiful to look at and it fit her just the way she liked. A thick, six-inch mocha cappuccino of a cock is how she thought of it. Sameen enjoyed him until she'd had her fill, the last climax particularly sweet as she slowly ground her hips to swirl against his knot and empty him.

"Go back to sleep," she told him when she rolled off. "You've got another half hour." She turned her pillow for the cool side and didn't complain when he snuggled up to her back even though she was over-warm from exertion. Not a cuddler by nature, Sameen found it helpful to think about animals at times like this when her alpha crowded her after sex. For reasons she didn't examine, if she imagined they were dogs or foxes it made the cuddling acceptable, even mildly pleasurable. She patted his arm when he tucked his hand between her breasts. In seconds she heard his soft sleep breathing and let herself drift off; satisfied.

 

***

 

God bless Leon Tao, he thought. The mild-mannered, bird-loving alpha had married a ninja. John had met a lot of powerful betas in his time but Sameen Shaw-Tao was in a class of her own. He approved of her from the outset when he saw her casing him from the street. He might have missed it if he hadn't already gotten a physical description of her from Harold.

She had the kind of looks that could be hushed, as they were now, her hair pulled back in a simple tail, her clothing nondescript, or be played up to suit the role of his assistant for their foray into the lion's den.

They made a trip to her office. It was a shabby but serviceable space at the edge of the bead district in the west Thirties. She was three flights up, above a Korean bead import/wholesale space near Broadway. While he scoped out her well-stocked arsenal, she looked through her closet, eyed him and made her selection. When he saw her emerge a few minutes later she'd transformed herself into a creature of corporate beauty.

He gave her a phone and earpiece and they were on their way to his appointment.

"You hold yourself in really well," she told him. They were in a cab, approaching Virtanen's headquarters. "These boys don't play that way. You gotta let it out, Riley."

"They'll feel it," he assured her.

 

***

 

If John Riley was surprised by her he was doing a good job of hiding it. She liked that. No alpha bullshit, she liked that too. And she liked the story Leon had told her about his friend Harold. Not for the same reason Leon liked it -- he thought it was romantic. She just liked the idea of Harold. Any time a so-called lesser didn't bow to convention, she considered it a good thing. That Leon was drawn to Harold didn't surprise her. It was like him to befriend someone others disapproved of. She figured Harold had probably smelled pretty good to him too, but that didn't bother her -- Leon was the faithful type.

She met up with Riley at a coffee shop in midtown on the west side, not far from her hole-in-the-wall office. She saw how he casually used every surface for visual scanning without ever making her feel like he wasn't paying attention to her. She also could tell he was packing; instinct, smell maybe, she had a sixth sense about some things. There was little sign of it under his pricey suit, but she just knew. Security, my ass, she thought, this guy was some kind of spook in another life.

"Let me get this straight," she said. "The implant thing was intentional and we're gonna take down whoever the bastard is that thought it was good idea."

He nodded. "That's it."

"I'm in," she said.

***

Harold was holed up in his office, listening intently. The details of John's portfolio were open on screen, the details of their covers at his fingertips. He was very pleased that John had met and hired Dr Tao's wife but hadn't counted on the fact that far from feeling like John was safer, he now had two people he was worried about.

"The gift," he prompted when the right moment arrived. "The custom you learned to honor in Japan …" He said it and John spoke the words smoothly to Mark Lawson. As soon as the gold figurine was placed on the desk, Harold had eyes and ears in the man's office and more importantly a boosted wifi connection.

This is how he learned that Lawson and his father-in-law, Robert Keller were, in deed, responsible for engineering the failed implant. A quiet talk between Keller and his henchman, Samuel Douglas. Harold guessed by the sound level that it was taking place outside Lawson's office but he was still able to pick it up on the mic. The tour was proceeding elsewhere.

"A new investor?" Douglas said. "We don't need this kind of scrutiny after what went down in Beijing."

"Unfortunately," Keller said, "we've got more to worry about now. I've never heard of this John Riley and I think I know every power investor in the game. He looks the part but the scent is … off. Are you sure you cleaned up all the loose ends from the drug trials?"

Intriguing. Harold suspected this was a reference to their new drug, currently under review by the FDA. With some rapid-fire digging through recently trashed items he discovered that the material submitted to the FDA was bolstered by falsified clinical data, and from deleted emails, that they had already silenced one of their own to cover it up.

It was beginning to seem to Harold like he was devoting more time to illegally penetrating firewalls than he was to his actual research, but this thought didn't stop him from breaking through into Virtanen's servers in search of evidence.

The original lab reports. Harold knew that it was virtually impossible to completely erase digital information. The data he was able to hack from Virtanen's servers would not be admissible in court but Harold believed it was explosive enough, if leaked to the District Attorney's office, to trigger an investigation that would send their stock plummeting.

IFT, through the shell corporation created for John's cover, just happened to possess enough shares to short sell and bring them to their knees.

He was feeding most of this information to John and Sameen as they toured the Virtanen plant. Harold suggested they make their apologies and exit, even as he heard they were about to be ushered into Robert Keller's office to wind up their visit.

Suddenly John's phone went silent. Harold could still hear, though not well, through Ms Shaw-Tao's phone.

"Gentlemen." John's voice. Harold heard the sound of someone gagging and a crashing noise. "I think you can tell I've had the pleasure of bonding, recently. Harold Finch, my omega, is that name familiar to anyone here?"

"Oh dear god, John," Harold said, but only she could hear him.

"John," it was Shaw-Tao's voice, a low murmur. "Behind you. I got this."

Then she grunted and Harold heard the alarming sound of a scuffle.

"Sameen!" Harold cried out, "What's going on?" He heard her breathing and a grunt.

"It's okay, Harold." She sounded breathy but remarkably calm. "I took care of the beta. The alphas are down. We're on our way out now."

 

***

 

John and Harold were having lunch in Harold's office. Shades open, John noted. He'd brought Chinese food, including lemon coconut cakes to tempt him with. As of yet, his mate was still unhappy.

"Disgrace and financial ruin didn't strike you as commensurate punishment?" Harold said, eyebrows raised, chopsticks poised with a bite of noodles halfway to his mouth.

John pictured Mark Lawson, gut-punched and gasping on the floor beside his father-in-law. John had been content to make the old man flatten himself to the rug. The old alpha was a powerhouse and the force of going down left him puking and choking on his own resistance. This, added to disgrace and financial ruin was John's idea of commensurate punishment.

"You have a point," John said. He dipped a crisp wonton into the sauce Harold liked and the omega reluctantly allowed him to feed it to him. John enjoyed watching him eat. Shades could still be drawn. Harold glanced at him a little suspiciously as he swallowed. His expression said the shades would remain open.

"If you have no concern for your own well-being you should at least have considered her," Harold said. John nodded, suppressing his smile at the memory of how quickly she had taken the beta heavy down.

"You're right," he said. Harold's outraged pout looked very attractive, John thought.

"I've got a lot to accomplish this afternoon." John dunked another wonton and ate this one himself. Harold was gazing at his mouth.

"I understand." He picked up his beer, held it to his lips in a deliberate way and tilted the bottle up slowly to drink. When he set the bottle down he saw evidence that it had been appreciated; a pucker in the sleek line of Harold's buttoned fly.

"You are being insufferably condescending and that display was … not subtle," Harold said. "Fortunately, I can withstand your teasing and wait until I see you later … at home." He drew his napkin up to cover the miniature tent in his trousers.

John didn't think his omega could wait, judging from the flavor of his aura.

"One more wonton," John said, dipping it and holding it up to Harold's lips. His omega's eyes closed as John's fingers brushed over his lips and entered his mouth. Harold took hold of John's wrist.

"You win ... close the shades … and the curtains."

John was about to do just that when Caleb appeared at the open door.

"Harold, there's a woman down at reception insisting on seeing you. Her name is Samantha Groves. They say she's … very insistent."

"Yes, I know her. Dr Groves, but … " he looked to John, puzzled. "Is it safe to let her in here?"

"Have reception tell her that I'll come down to meet with her," John said.

He looked at his omega, wanting him, but the need to protect outweighed any other.

"Looks like it's later … at home," he told him. "I'll find out what she wants."


	12. Chapter 12

Root wasn't surprised that it was the alpha who came down to meet with her. She would have done the same in his place. He was better dressed than the last time she'd seen him. Better dressed than he deserved to be; benefitting from Harold Finch's money and his tailor. Also, she realized, his scent had changed -- there were disturbingly pleasant undertones of the omega.

"He and I need to talk," she told him. "About things that you, frankly, wouldn't understand."

"Such as … "

"Decima Technologies," she said quietly. She watched his expression change. His master's voice in his ear, she thought, grinning.

"Is that who you work for, Dr, or is it Ms Groves?"

What a complete asshole, she thought.

"Past tense. I left four months ago but I've been keeping track of them and there are developments he should know about. The name I prefer to be called, is Root." He gave her a narrow-eyed look. Of course he had no idea what her name meant. That restored her sense of superiority. "I'm here to help Harry, not to hurt him," she said, pouring a little honey on the words to goad him. She waited for a flare of annoyance, a little warning, but it didn't come. Did he think she was so weak that he couldn't be bothered? She'd show him her strength, one way or another. He'd find her claws if needed … but he was just watching her. She sensed him listening to another voice. Harold's.

"He'll get in touch with you to arrange a meeting."

She offered him a mild look, and a smile. She could afford to smile, having achieved her aim. Harold Finch wanted to meet with her.

It was a shame that she wasn't the one taking care of Harold's physical needs, but it wasn't her way to linger in regret. Harold Finch needed her and more important than ownership of his body, she told herself, was an intellectual bond … something this Cro-Magnon would never achieve with his mate.

It was more important than ever now. The signs were ominous. Decima had been taken over and was being remade by its new director. John Greer, former British intelligence, had staged what amounted to a coup at her old firm. Root had uncovered evidence that he was becoming increasingly interested in Harold Finch and his research.

She forced herself to walk away casually, knowing the alpha was observing her.

At least this ape provided him with a constant bodyguard; brute strength was good for something. It was necessary that Harold Finch be protected. He was nothing less, in her view, than the architect of the future.

 

***

Harold drew the office shades while John was downstairs and waited with some impatience for him to return. The conversation he listened to was confusing. Why did she think Decima was so important.

"I'm well aware of their aggressive stance," he'd said to John. "But I'm also well-protected."

He was also fairly sure he'd pinpointed the woman's intrusions; she had a trojan horse technique that was complex but identifiable. Root, an odd and disturbing name to call oneself. He was surprised when John said that he'd be in touch to arrange a meeting.

"Why," he asked as he listened to the sounds of John's approach, the hum of the elevator.

"She has information," John said. "Best to set up a time and place of our choosing."

"I suppose." Harold sighed, and wondered if he'd been too quick to draw the shades. He had cleared away the remains of lunch, leaving only the unopened box of lemon cakes. He'd taken off his jacket, vest and his shoes, loosened his tie and taken the precaution of bringing towels from the restroom; they were folded on the arm of the couch. The woman had definitely spoiled the mood. He looked at the box of cakes with a vague interest.

John scanned the room, focused on him, and Harold felt the heat of his alpha's gaze like the sun coming out inside him; his body relaxed back into the couch as if all his joints had loosened.

"You closed the shades," John said. "And you're practically … naked." His voice caressed him.

"I could be more naked," Harold said. He felt suddenly too warm for the touch of his shirt, a prickling heat traveling over his body's surfaces. He began unbuttoning.

He'd often felt that nature had done him no favors; in his own eyes he was not pretty, not handsome, his body plain, almost sexless. Seeing himself in John's eyes, however, he felt … beautiful, alluring. He bared his nearly flat chest and his alpha was entranced.

"Now the pants," John said.

***

John stripped out of his own clothes, hardly taking his eyes off the omega. If there was a sweeter, hotter sight than Harold in the incongruous white panties, it could only be Harold completely naked. 

He could hardly compare the sex he'd had in his life to what he experienced with Harold. There had been only a couple of omegas among his many partners. Both, he was sorry to recall, had been professionals. The truth was that omegas mated, they didn't engage in casual sex unless they made a career of it. Their bodies didn't open until their hormone levels were adjusted and that happened only when they mated or were granted a license for sex work under the protection of an alpha.

Or … an implant failed.

 

***

Mark Snow, seated beside Alicia Corwin on a bench in Rock Creek Park, squinted at the image on her phone.

"How is this possible?" she demanded.

He took the phone from her to look more closely and saw the date stamp, two days before. Only a slight flaring of his nostrils betrayed his response.

"Reese," he spoke the name very quietly. The alpha survived. It was virtually impossible and yet there he was. Snow felt like he could taste the scent of him in the back of his throat. "Where?"

Corwin looked at him as if she was unsure whether to tell him or not. As if he was unworthy of the information. Damn Reese.

Snow, like most handlers, was beta; charged with managing a pair of alphas. Reese and Stanton. Then charged with eliminating them.

Stanton had been courting termination for a long time. She was too undisciplined. She'd been in the field too long and was becoming … indiscreet. Snow had been able to curb her for a while, offering up his own body to keep her reined in. He'd discovered a taste for the female alpha's cock, her knot aligned to his prostate. He could tolerate the rough handling if it led to fucking, which it always did. Her license to abuse him had kept her out of trouble.

For a long time it was just the two of them, not standard, but they were effective. He was able to manage her, get good work from her and at the same time, be satisfied by her. It all went to hell, from his point of view, when they assigned the alpha male. Kara took a lot of pleasure in training him, exposing him to the more brutal aspects of fieldwork. She liked to goad him. Incite him. She claimed it was to toughen him up but Mark saw it for what it was, her idea of foreplay. The alpha wasn't about to let her mount him but she could weasel him into fucking her and Mark hated it.

"I don't know how he made it out," he said, with carefully cultivated lack of affect. A bland, contained demeanor was the only way to survive among these twitchy alphas.

Alicia was staring a hole through him but abruptly took the phone and snapped it in half.

"I'll be in touch," she told him. "Don't leave the city."


	13. Chapter 13

There were things about Root that disturbed John but he was convinced that she meant no harm to his omega. He'd looked over everything that Sameen had collected on Samantha Groves before the meeting and felt satisfied that she was indeed a hacker, a former Decima spy. Her admiration for Harold ran a little too close to obsession for John's liking but he took her seriously as a source of information and he did believe she wanted to protect Harold.

They met with her outdoors near the zoo in Central Park, near a food concession. The afternoon sun made it just warm enough to draw people out despite the cool temperatures. John arranged for Sameen to watch and listen from a distance.

"John Greer," Root said, "is ruthlessly ambitious. You need to take precautions for your personal safety, not just the safety of your work. Someone like Greer poses more of a threat than the team of hackers Decima used to employ."

John saw Harold was torn between disbelief and alarm. They'd seen what a drug company would stoop to. John had no trouble believing a rival tech firm could be just as aggressive. He felt like he needed a clearer understanding of his omega's work and what kind of power it represented to attract this level of threat.

Sameen spoke in John's ear.

"Someone's taking pictures, John. Fuck, he sees me. I'm going after him."

John stood up, scanning. He made out the distant shape of the small hooded figure running and followed with his eyes until she stopped short and turned around.

"Lost him," Sameen muttered, breathing hard. "But I got a few shots of my own."

"What is it, John?" Harold asked, standing up beside him. He and Root were both trying to see what he was looking at.

"Someone … taking pictures. Sam lost them," he told him, taking Harold's arm. "We need to move now." To Sameen, he said, "We need somewhere safe to regroup, any ideas?" he was asking Sameen, including Root with a glance, but it was Harold who answered him.

"I think I know somewhere."

Both he and Root looked at Harold, surprised.

"It's not too far," he said. "It's a building I own under a different name … not traceable," he added.

 

***

 

To Harold, someplace safe meant somewhere private and the first place that came to mind was the old library. An acquisition he'd made under one of his more obscure business aliases. No one had asked him to explain himself when he spoke up at the park though he saw how surprised they were.

"Why, exactly, do you have aliases, Harold?" John asked when they had a measure of privacy. Root and Ms Shaw-Tao were hanging back a little farther behind them. It was a perfectly reasonable question for his alpha to ask, Harold knew, but he felt reluctant to answer. Nathan hadn't had a very good reaction when he'd revealed this to him.

John was following him past construction tarps into an alley. Harold's heart rate was climbing as he readied himself to surrender his folly to the scrutiny of his alpha.

"There are certain things that a beta or an alpha can do more easily than an omega, John. Buying property is one of them." Saying this out loud made him feel ashamed. It was hard to pinpoint the source of it. He didn't think he felt ashamed of his breed. He'd tried to live his life as if there were no shame in being omega, as if it were not lesser, but this was like an admission that he would prefer to be something else. "Harold Crane is a beta I created who collects books and owns a number of decommissioned libraries in the city. Including this one."

The warmth of admiration in his alpha's touch, when John's hand rested on his shoulder, surprised him.

"You don't disapprove?"

"I think you are … amazing,"

Harold flushed at this expression of pride. He felt much better leading the group inside.

Spectral light, bright sun diffused by the varying layers of construction shrouds, lit the cavernous space before them. The massive interior was dominated by a sweeping marble stairway.

"Obviously, I haven't gotten as far with this project as I intended," he said, as they surveyed the toppled shelving, the floor littered with books.

"You've been busy shaping the future, Harold," Root said. Her presence was slightly troubling but he trusted John's instincts that had included her in their group as they left the park.

Harold led them up to a space he'd cleared at the top of the stairs. John and Ms Shaw-Tao were scavenging for more chairs. Harold looked across the round library table at Root, with whom he was now very conscious of being alone. He set down his case. She set hers down. Ms Shaw-Tao's camera was there and he itched to download the photos she'd taken.

Root's expression was becoming familiar; a light in her eyes, a slight smile on her lips, as if she were enjoying some private amusement. If only he didn't feel like he was the source of entertainment.

"Shall we get to work?" she said, and Harold breathed a sigh of relief, in eager agreement. Her passion for the power of a computer was one he shared.

***

Sameen looked around and thought Leon would probably like this place. Could be an aviary, she thought. He'd probably like to see birds nesting in the shelves.

Riley was starting to take up a lot of real estate in her life but she wasn't complaining. He was paying her much more than she'd asked for and he'd already given her supplemental funds to upgrade her arsenal.

An odd trio, she thought, looking around the table. Two hackers and a … hit man. The kind who works for government agencies no one is supposed to know about. Or he used to. That was her suspicion about Riley and nothing she was hearing today changed her mind. Harold was a mystery. She hadn't known a lot of omegas. There weren't a ton of them around to get to know. The ones you tended to meet were singles, the ones who never mated and quietly populated the lower rungs of the service industry.

She was content with her own breed. Could be worse off, was her take. She felt protective, observing Harold. Omegas were a strange two-sided coin; revered as highly desirable mates by alphas on the one hand (forbidden by custom, if not by law, to betas) and on the other, they were sneered at for similar reasons -- their sexuality. Harold was some kind of genius omega who proved the system was fucked.

Root. Too smart for her own good and slightly nuts. She had a real hot beta female for a wife. Sameen had felt some heat in her glance as they'd made their way up the alley behind Riley and Harold. She'd looked back at Root with a shake of her head and told her flat out, "Wrong tree. When I want alpha I get it at home, just the way I like it."

Now they were considering whether the government might be taking pictures of Harold Finch. Root had traced the rental car back to Arlington, Virginia. Kind of a stretch from the one clue, she thought, but the big guy seemed pretty sure.

Sameen left them to go get some food. She was hungry and she wanted to ask Riley a question the others didn't need to overhear. She called him as she walked.

"Are we sure it's Harold that guy was taking pictures of," she asked. "Not trying to pry into your business, but is it possible some old buddies of yours are looking for you?"

She heard him sigh.

"They will be now."

 

***

It was after midnight when Harold and John entered his office at IFT. Though Harold had every right to be there at any time of day or night, they'd entered surreptitiously and temporarily disabled the security cameras to avoid making their presence known.

Harold had agreed they should find a place to lay low for a few days while they got a better idea of who was doing surveillance and the level of danger. He needed to collect some things from his office; his primary hard drives and a slender box he retrieved from a locked safe in his desk.

From there they went on to a private club in midtown, called The Century. Yet another of his secrets revealed. It was easier for him to share with John after showing him the library. Horace Nightingale, widow of the fictitious Gerard Nightingale, had a life membership at the club in his husband's name. It was a haven for Harold when he wanted privacy ... and pampering. As much as he cared for Nathan and Olivia, there were times he wanted to be out of reach. His suite at The Century wasn't grand but it was very well-appointed and maintained. The club offered housekeeping, a spa, and a very fine kitchen with room service in addition to its private dining room.

"Sit here," Harold told John, pointing to the desk chair in his suite.

John needed a better understanding of his work. Not the coding, not the engineering of it. Root had proved she had some inkling of what he was doing but she knew much less than she suspected. He wanted John to experience the reality of it.

He produced a slender box he'd brought from the safe in his desk at IFT. It unlocked with his thumb print.

"In essence, John, this is how one would connect to the machine. Not so different in concept from the ear piece you wear but … more complex. It draws its information with a much broader net and delivers it to different parts of the brain. Ultimately it could be an implant. Hold still. I have worn this myself, to test. Nathan doesn't know that I created this or that I have conducted tests on … myself. Unfortunately, I'm quite certain he wouldn't approve, so please don't … " He didn't like to ask John to lie for him.

"I won't."

"The information it draws varies based on subvocalized queries. Pre-speech, if you will. Look at me and wonder who I am."

Harold had created this prototype himself in the lab. He fit the curving wire over the top of John's ear and tucked the soft insert gently into his ear canal; he positioned the lower sensor under the curve of his jaw. It was impossible to do this and not want to continue touching him but Harold stepped back, thinking that touching might not be wise while John's awareness was enhanced.

"It's meant to orient someone who is confused, to bolster memory with information," he said.

 

***

John looked at Harold, and silently asked the question, who are you? The answer came as if a screen had opened in his thoughts, Harold's … history, their relationship, sub-categories he could open at will.

"Your bank accounts, Harold. This seems like more information than is … romance novels, really?" He saw his omega frown and an analysis of his micro expressions appeared.

"What?"

There was a wealth of information, more than John could consciously examine.

"Every book you ever borrowed from the library, the things you've bought, what you've looked at online. This is … everything, Harold," he said, utterly amazed by what he was experiencing. "It isn't what you expected me to see, is it?"

Harold looked mildly panicked, he was reaching out to remove the device. John felt a brief impulse to stop him, to continue to steep himself in the data of Harold … but he didn't stop him.

"Move please," Harold said, and John gave up the chair. "You are more than welcome to all of that information John, but … it should not be available."

What wouldn't the government do get their hands on such a device, John thought. He watched the omega's fingers fly over his keyboard and the screens became vivid with columns of code. Windows within windows. He understood completely now why Root, even if she'd only glimpsed a fragment of this, had sought him out as some kind of tech guru and why she feared for Harold and his creation.

"Can you see me?" Harold said. "Who am I?"

John watched, fascinated to see Harold interact with whatever this entity was that he called the machine. He was interested to see his own face appear over an outpouring of data.

"Yes, yes, primary asset," Harold said. "You are correct." Turning to him, Harold said, "I never programmed such vast search parameters." He shut down the laptop.

"Harold, has anyone else seen this, used this?"

"No. The teams you've seen me working with, those projects are the bread and butter of IFT technologies. This … this is my own work. Even this prototype. I created this myself in the clean room. The work is … it's too sensitive for me to allow anyone access yet. But you … basically, you are me, John. That is the truth the machine understands."

These words spoken so simply by Harold made John's heart soar. It was not possible for him to speak for a moment. As elated as he was by this affirmation of their bond, his assessment of the need for caution had skyrocketed.

"What you've created is a very powerful tool, Harold. This," he pointed to the thumb print lockbox, "is not enough security."

"The device has no power of its own. Only in my hands, or yours. It's only a way for the machine to communicate and as of now it will only communicate with me, admin, or you, its primary asset." He put the device back in its case. "That's part of the problem. I wanted to create something less powerful, something that could be used safely by a broad spectrum of people, not something so intensely powerful that can only be used by one or two."

"You set out to build a paper airplane and created a jet engine."

"Paper airplanes are safer," he mused. "I wanted to create a thinking power sufficient to aid a person whose own process has become confused not craft an artificial intelligence to be used by people seeking power."

And yet, that was exactly what his omega had done. His goal, so innocent. The result, unimaginably dangerous.

John resolved that he would become adamantine, he would weld himself around this extraordinary person to keep him safe. But for now he needed to hold him in his mere human arms, inhale him, kiss him. He urged him up, away from the desk, to hold him. It had been a long day, a demanding day and once the omega turned his back on the laptop he seemed relieved to move into John's embrace.

"A word of caution, Harold," he said, stroking his back. "You should think twice before looking at me with that device."

"Are you forgetting I've seen your agency files?" Harold said, sounding puzzled, nudging under John's jaw to kiss his neck. John found this very arousing. He breathed deep with pleasure. Scent mingled with touch. His omega's thigh was sliding suggestively against his sheathed cock.

"Let's just say, while you were reading romance novels in high school, looking at pictures of birds, I was looking at … other things. I'm pretty sure they didn't show up in my agency files."

Harold uttered a quiet laugh that made John very happy.


	14. Chapter 14

Harold was out of bed early and quietly brewed a cup of tea. It was small consolation for giving up the warmth and comfort of being in John's arms but his mind was too restless to enjoy the physical pleasure his body still craved.

He'd succeeded in giving his alpha some insight into the machine but their session with the device had raised more questions in Harold's mind than he'd answered to his own satisfaction. There was also quite a bit of work to be done that he hadn't dared to attempt in Root's presence.

What he suspected, feared, and needed to confirm, was that his problem child's voracious appetite for knowledge had grown. The machine had broadened the parameters of its own coding and Harold needed to pinpoint where and how.

John's paper airplane to jet analogy was apt in many ways, he thought. The machine was dynamic, it was a vehicle. But paper airplanes and jet engines were not capable of moving themselves. Harold's own sense of the machine was … alive. He was still holding the reins but the sweet-natured paddock pony he'd guided through its paces in the beginning kept evolving. He felt he was now holding the reins of a thoroughbred racehorse.

He fitted the device into place, curving the malleable sensor arm under his jaw. The keyboard, a phone, any connection would have served to communicate, but the device offered not only speed but depth of perception. Harold used the keyboard to modify code, to map the changes and make alterations.

"I know, I know," he murmured in dialogue with the machine as it presented his inner eye with areas that needed work; as if it were saying, fix me here, look at this, see what I see.

There was a way in which he thought his connection to the machine echoed his connection to John; both gave him a sense that his edges were meeting contours that matched them, like puzzle pieces fitting to create a greater whole.

Within the hour Harold felt the gait of his racehorse was smooth and responsive to his touch. He turned to gaze at his alpha, still in their bed, and found himself smiling as he silently asked the question, what things were you referring to that you looked at in high school … 

The not too surprising answer was -- a truly staggering amount of omega pornography, magazines purchased, videos viewed online. Harold looked away from the images, closing the mental door. The images that excited a teen-aged alpha were not necessarily something he wanted to look at.

What would I have looked at? What would have excited me as a teenager if there were no hormone regulation, he wondered. Impossible to know. He put those thoughts aside to concentrate on more important questions.

The machine absorbed knowledge from him like a sponge. Having once breached the security of the CIA's servers he found the way much easier this time, aided by memory and by the machine. He was seeking references to himself, references to John Reese or John Riley. To John there was nothing current, but to him … Harold was stunned to find a file under his own name as well as mentions of his name in deleted emails. There were notes on a meeting between Alicia Corwin and Nathan Ingram. Her credentials linked her to the NSA but the body of her activity appeared in concert with the CIA.

What on earth had Nathan done?

He examined the contents of his file. General notes on his work culled from technology journals. Personal notes regarding rumors that Harold was working on an AI project. These notes were contained in reports from a classified informant whose name it took Harold some time to unearth. Wayne Kruger. This horrified him; he remembered Kruger. The man had worked with them for nearly six months. He'd only recently left the company. Kruger's reports confused Harold. The man had detailed rumors then failed to report anything of note for months on end. His reports ended altogether close to the time Harold recalled him leaving. That is when Corwin's first memo appeared, scheduling the meeting with IFT.

Corwin noted Harold's absence from the initial meeting and Nathan's refusal to include Harold in any subsequent meetings. She described him as arrogant, condescending, and uncooperative. Her recommendation was surveillance of Harold with an eye to recruiting him.

There was a link to a digital photo file with IDs pending. They'd had no luck getting up on his phones, or into his encrypted email.

A new agent had been planted at IFT, Sulaiman Khan; unfamiliar to him.

Harold's attention was drawn from this to a prompt on Corwin that stopped him in his tracks and then absorbed him for quite some time.

Enough, Harold murmured at last. "Please alert me when the photo file is documented," he said softly.

 

***

"What is it?" John could tell Harold had been up and out of bed. His skin was cool to the touch and he could taste the tea on his lips. It meant he'd been up and working. "What did you find out?" he asked him.

"Not now," Harold sighed and turned around in his arms, backing up against him. John loved to be facing Harold, able to kiss his mouth, look in his eyes, but the lust he felt when his omega presented himself like this was elemental and intense.

John gathered him close, his hard-on sliding between Harold's thighs. He felt him shiver a little and then slowly warm up as he caressed him. He kissed the tender skin at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, licked it, and sucked on it as he stroked his omega's hip, sliding his hand downward to feel for wetness. He found a spill of moisture and his dick slid in the dampness along a soft thigh. With an appreciative moan John shifted to lodge the head of his cock and press inside.

"Deeper," a breathy plea from the omega. John turned him onto his belly so he could work the full length of his cock into him. Harold's excited movements made John swell and he groaned, thrusting to embed himself, to be tied. Harold's keening was sweet to hear as he rocked inside him, his knot full and pulsing.

Harold whimpered as he came and the convulsive clutching of his muscles squeezed John's dick in rhythmic pulls; the blissful milking of his sperm.

 

***

 

Harold was physically sated, washed clean in the shower, but he had achieved no real peace. He was carrying the weight, the burden of information. The awful, ultimate fruit of his morning's work. He knew he needed to speak but kept holding back, finding it hard to say things that could threaten how his alpha might see him, might feel about him.

Before John, before the failure of the implant, Harold experienced sensuality only in the feel of fine cloth against his skin, his appreciation of good food, the aesthetic pleasures of art … the beauty of birds. His life had been almost wholly devoted to the mysteries and delights of his work. Now the thought of living without this, without John was almost unbearable.

"My life is so changed," he said, standing beside John in the bathroom, paused in the act of drying himself from their shower, watching John splash his face after shaving. John looked at him in the mirror, concerned.

"Are you sorry?"

"God, no. Not sorry. Just stunned, in a way. And … what I discovered this morning makes it all stranger yet, I'm afraid." He held the towel loosely wrapped around his hips.

There was no good way to approach this, he thought. He knew part of the reason he'd wanted to be back in bed, back in John's arms and feel the connection of their bodies was to hold his new knowledge at bay.

His alpha turned to him and Harold wished these things didn't need to be said.

"What exactly did you discover?" he asked, very serious now.

Harold felt the weight, the intensity of the man's attention and was almost afraid to speak.

His heart felt so heavy; he had to drag the words out. "I discovered that the government has been watching me for a while. An agent was planted at IFT. He stole a fragment of my code from the lab and sold it. The man is dead because of it and the laptop ended up in China. Your mission John, the laptop, the explosion. It's because of me." Harold's voice broke and he felt tears spilling on his cheeks though he was not aware of crying.

"Harold, no. Come here," John said, reaching for him.

He was so relieved to be held, to press his face near John's neck and breathe him in with the fresh scent of the aftershave. The tears were still wet on his cheeks but he could swallow again and John's arms were around him.

"I can't bear the thought of what my work has caused. If they weren't watching me now ... they wouldn't have found you," he whispered.

John's fingers were moving through his hair and Harold leaned into him; the powerful, masculine body had become as vital to him as his own flesh and blood.

"It's not your fault, Harold."


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Season 5 just appeared on Netflix -- a mixed blessing. My eyes are hungry for the sight of these characters but it's almost impossible to look at John in these episodes without being aware they're about to kill him off. I freely confess that although I became more fond of Root as the seasons progressed I was never attached to her the way I was to John and her death didn't have the same impact on me.
> 
> So here I am, back in one of the worlds I've created to give them some happiness.

It was difficult for Harold to judge which of the alphas frowning at him was the least happy with his plan.

He could feel the chill of November in the old building. Heat, he thought. If they were going to keep meeting here they would need heat. More light. The cloudy sky was even darker through the construction shrouds. The few lights they did have cast ominous shadows.

John's mistrust of Alicia Corwin and the agencies she worked for ran deep. Nathan was affronted by the thought of working with Corwin and appalled that his firm had been infiltrated by government spies. He was also unhappy with the news that Harold had lied to him about who John was and how they had met. Root feared a government contract would cut her out of Harold's life.

Only Ms Shaw-Tao had not weighed in on the discussion. She hadn't taken a seat at the library table, assigning herself the task of monitoring the security feeds and periodically doing a physical sweep.

"I can't allow John to be picked up by his former associates and jailed or … worse," Harold reiterated when the silence had become deafening. "They will continue to try to steal this work from me. People will get hurt. The only way I can exert any control over what comes next is to negotiate a contract."

 

***

 

Harold and the Knights of the Round Table, Sameen thought, observing the gathering in the medieval murk. She kept her grin to herself. Three powerhouse alphas and all of them deferring to the little omega. As it should be, she thought -- anybody that could hack the CIA was worthy of bowing down to, no matter how small and adorable he was or how bad an alpha might want to fuck him.

She kept an ear on the proceedings while she wandered the building, following the story of the CIA plant that had double-crossed the agency for money when he finally got his hands on a piece of Harold's code. They'd killed him for it and then tried to wipe the laptop he'd sold off the face of the earth; Riley (Reese?) and his partner with it.

She didn't find it hard to believe in the ruthlessness of covert government operations. What did strain her credulity was the way Riley had survived the missile strike and met up with the omega. She liked the guy but she didn't like coincidences. This one was major. Despite the uneasiness it gave her, her gut told her the big guy worshipped the ground Harold walked on and she knew the scumbags from Virtanen were the only ones who'd known what was happening to Harold.

Sameen shelved her suspicions and figured Leon was right -- fate or some kind of weird-ass karma had brought this pair together. She pictured Leon who was, no doubt, going about his work at the museum. Her mind's eye dropped to his crotch. Then her thoughts strayed to the steak he'd said he'd be cooking for dinner.

As she climbed the marble stairs at the end of her sweep it sounded like the alphas were buckling under and agreeing to what Harold wanted.

Thank god, she thought. Lunchtime.

 

***

 

Alicia Corwin felt like someone who'd been offered a last minute stay of execution. Nathan Ingram had contacted her. The man had actually offered to negotiate exactly what the higher-ups were breathing down her neck to secure. She sat back in her chair, drawing the first relaxed breath she'd taken since the surveillance on Harold Finch went from fucked up (the agent was made by Finch's bodyguard) to totally screwed (John Reese was alive and had his hands on her target.)

Ingram would meet her in New York to finalize the details but all indications were that IFT would contract to craft a system for them. Ingram claimed it would be capable of delivering actionable intelligence; the AI of Control's wet dreams. IFT was offering to build this without monetary compensation, the only payment required was safeguarding the life of former operative John Reese.

John Reese, the man she'd nearly ordered the elimination of for the second time. She reviewed his files yet again. A stellar agent who'd been sacrificed in the Kruger affair. The man's history was filled with narrow escapes and miraculous recoveries. Corwin thought this might be his most impressive yet, rising from the dead. Stanton had been their real problem but word had come down to sterilize the site and both agents with it.

Denton Weeks and his cronies would have to bend over and take Reese up the ass. They couldn't touch him now. Somehow he had ferreted out the ripe cherry of Harold Finch and bonded him. Finch needed his alpha and he'd give them what they wanted to keep him. 

Omegas, she thought. Once the hormones flowed even the ones with a brain in their heads had to have their alpha's cock to keep them sane. John Reese had turned out to be quite useful after all.

She'd have to find an appropriate disciplinary action for Mark Snow.

***

When Horace Nightingale and his bonded alpha returned to the suite at the Century Club they found a few changes. The first and most obvious was a huge bouquet of flowers accented with sheafs of wheat, now dominating their dining table. Around it were gifts of fruit, boxes of chocolate and … "Oh my," Harold said, picking up the accompanying card. "It's tastefully addressed, Dear Guests. I suppose just Horace would be too familiar and they don't know your surname. They congratulate us on our bonding and cordially invite you to stop by the office any time to initial the change in title of ownership."

Harold sighed, laying the card aside. John had opened the chocolates.

"Eat this," he said, holding a truffle close to Harold's lips. "You'll feel better." Harold opened his mouth to accept it and found the dark chocolate was rich and smoky, the truffle was … deliciously creamy.

The meeting had been rough. Harold was tired, he was hungry. He felt exposed as if he'd had to bare some part of himself to get the alphas to accept his decision. At least John was not angry, he thought. Wary, yes, but supportive.

He closed his eyes, savoring the chocolate and let John take his coat from him; like baby steps toward release from tension.

"Another … gift," John said. Harold opened his eyes and turned to see John folding away a decorative screen. He started to say, what is that, but of course he knew exactly what it was. Polished hardwoods and fine leather upholstery didn't really dignify the thing, in Harold's view. It was a wealthy relative to the padded shelf in the airplane, a piece of furniture designed to present an omega for intercourse. The common term for this one, he knew, was rack.

"It's somewhat … demeaning," he said, his voice gone quiet.

It didn't make him any happier that looking at it, imagining the ways his body could be positioned for mounting was creating a warm wetness between his legs; a liquid slide on the surface of the pad in his underwear.

"We can have it taken away," John's voice was matter of fact, muffled a little because he was hanging Harold's coat in the closet.

"I suppose," he said, approaching it. The thing occupied a space near the bed that had been home to an odd table that didn't seem to serve much purpose. No wonder, Harold thought, it had only been a place holder, for this.

Standing beside it, Harold sniffed the air and thought it smelled … good. The upholstery was freshly stitched, the wood had the agreeable scent of polish and a sheen to it. There was something curiously pleasing and old-fashioned about the mechanics; he turned one of the inset gears and the action was as smooth as could be with a nearly imperceptible clicking sound as the brass handle turned the flywheel and parts shifted.

***

John watched silently as Harold examined the rack. His omega was a naturally reserved and dignified creature. New to his own sexuality and uncomfortable with the rest of the world taking notice. But John couldn't fail to notice, to respond to his omega's arousal, to see how the rack was exciting him.

Carefully, so he wouldn't startle him, he joined him and began to undress him. First the tie. Harold's fondness for traditional male clothing was charming to John. He liked to see him buttoned up in his crisply tailored shirts and vests and think of the softness hidden inside. 

Harold didn't speak but his body did, his eyes, his expressions, were eloquent. The color was high on his cheekbones and a scattering of pink flush had appeared on his throat and his chest. John knelt in front of him to open his trousers. Harold leaned on him as he slid them off him. The panties were heavy with moisture, the little cock and balls were swollen taut.

John was desperate to be out of his own clothes, free of his sheath. He threw his own things off quickly, tossing them at the bed.

"Don't think of it as binding, Harold. Think of it as support," John said as he closed each of the omega's limbs into a padded brace. He was mesmerized by Harold's deep breathing, the rise and fall of his diaphragm. "Rest your head back into it so I can adjust … there." He saw the blue eyes slowly close and barely open again. He was secured with his legs spread and held apart. Hips and shoulders supported, bound at the waist. Arms and wrists fitted to the armature. John adjusted the angle, tilting him back, bringing him into a perfect alignment with his hard cock.

Harold gasped when John's cock pressed his slit and his body came alive in the bindings. John could see him straining. Not with pain, not resistance … with longing. 

John didn't tease, didn't hold back. For Harold's sake and his own he buried himself and fucked him deep and hard with the ease of stroking the rack was designed for. When his knot slid into place and caught there, swelling, he paused, breathing hard, his cock throbbing. Harold was panting, still stirring to the limits he could. His face was a portrait of passion. John didn't often have the distance to watch him this way. He studied him, reaching up to stroke his tits, watching and feeling his reactions.

The places the rack held him, John stroked the skin above and below and Harold gazed up at him liquid with affection.

"Are you ready?" John whispered, and spit on his fingers. He massaged his omega's cock, his balls. Harold's eyes squeezed shut and John felt him coming from inside even as the come squirted in warm jets through his fingers.

Afterwards, his omega was hungry and then sleepy. John took him to bed for a well-earned nap. Holding Harold, asleep and trusting in his arms, John wondered if it was even possible for this kind of happiness to last. He didn't think so but he was content. Even a little of this was much more than he'd ever thought he could have.

He didn't trust Alicia Corwin. He barely trusted Nathan Ingram. He trusted Root, provisionally. He trusted Harold without reservation, however, and accepted the path he'd chosen for them to follow.

 

***

 

"They look like a couple of meerkats," Sameen said, shaking her head slightly.

John glanced ahead at Harold and Leon. They stood side by side in matching poses with their arms at their sides, both heads turned at the same angle gazing intently at a branch in a nearby tree. Almost simultaneously each one slowly raised his field glasses as if afraid a sudden movement would disturb their quarry.

It made John smile.

It was a cloudy but not too cold Sunday afternoon and they were watching their mates watch birds in the Ramble at Central Park.

"Leon wants to cook Thanksgiving dinner for you guys."

John tried to remember the last time his life had contained anything even approaching this level of domesticity. Maybe early in his military career. The families of friends had stood in for his own that was missing. Even though he'd appreciated the effort his buddies had made, the whole family thing always felt a little uncomfortable, like he didn't quite belong. Harold was his family now and he felt very comfortable with Sameen and Leon.

"He cooks?"

"He bakes too."

"I know you're good at eating," he said. The woman could consume her weight in Chinese food.

"Screw you. I do scrambled eggs … and take out."

"How did you get that guy to marry you."

"Easy. I didn't give him a choice. Speaking of marriage, when's that happening? You've got the bond, in this state you've only got six months to get the paperwork."

"We'll get it done." John's pace picked up to keep Harold within a close radius and she matched him. They had their surveillance as well-coordinated as Leon and Harold had their bird-watching.


	16. Chapter 16

Harold was surprised but pleased that Dr Tillman returned to the states earlier than planned and he agreed to come see her for a check-up. He was very surprised to learn that she had brought Darren McGrady home to New York with her.

Tillman's office was in a brownstone in the west 80s, not far from Central Park and the Museum of Natural History. Harold planned to stroll over and see Leon afterwards.

It was the first week of December, a little more than a month since he'd seen her in Beijing. She had a lot of questions about the bonding.

"Still taking the birth control, Harold … any hopes of finding you pregnant?" she asked him at the outset.

"I don't have anywhere near the energy or time for babies, Dr Tillman, so, yes, I am still taking the birth control."

"I see. Any pain or discomfort during intercourse?"

"No, none at all," Harold said, blushing.

"That's excellent. Sometimes there is discomfort post cycle when the hormone levels drop.Your levels, though," she said, "I suspect are running quite high. We'll know exactly where they are when we have the lab results."

Harold felt it was a little odd to carry on a conversation while being examined but it was also relaxing and distracting to converse as the exam went on. He was very interested to hear how the young alpha had come to be part of her household; it helped him get through the ticklish part of the exam when she was touching his breasts and armpits.

"There were complications with Darren's study visa and his scholarship because he missed so much school. It was close to time for me to come back anyway. I got so close to him in the course of treating him. Are you tender there, Harold?"

"Just a little ticklish," he admitted.

"I'll touch more firmly. Better?"

"Yes … thank you." Harold relaxed a little. "You were saying … "

"Madeleine and I have actually begun the process of adopting him. His foster family here in New York, they're very good people, but I think we can give him more stability. I'm crazy about this kid and Madeleine is getting her chance to fall in love with him."

"He's a remarkable boy," Harold agreed. "I had no idea of his family situation."

"Your alpha is here," she said suddenly, and draped the sheet down over Harold's bare legs. "He has a … strong presence. By law," she said, looking to Harold as if for understanding, "he has the right to be here with you but since we had an established clinical relationship I thought it would be all right to proceed on our own."

Harold was confused.

The door to the examination room opened and the receptionist announced, "Mr Riley is here and … "

"Yes, I know, Holly, you can show him in."

"I'm so sorry for the disruption, Dr Tillman," Harold said.

"It's all right."

Harold wasn't sure he agreed with her. He hadn't felt awkward lying with his feet in the stirrups until he anticipated John's appearance in the room. He was comfortable with his body exposed to her and her touch was pleasant in a neutral way.

John did not look happy, his lips compressed and his face bright from the cold. His eyes sought Harold's and then focused on her. Harold could feel him on the verge of flaring.

"You should have arranged for us both to be here. He doesn't know these things … it's your responsibility." Danger pulsed from him and Harold feared she would sink to her knees.

"I assure you," she said, her voice constricted but calm, "I meant no disrespect to Harold, or to you." She inclined her head in deference and bowed slightly. Harold thought this whole interaction was unnecessary but sought to put an end to the tension.

"John, come here. Please sit." His alpha looked at him, the warmth Harold cast in his voice seemed to reach him and he took the seat beside the examining table that was his by right. "Hold my hand," Harold offered. John took his hand; his eyes closed briefly, his breathing deepened. "I think we can proceed now, Dr Tillman," Harold said.

"I want to make clear," she said, in a careful tone, "before I insert the speculum, that some alphas find this procedure disturbing … others find it arousing. I do not allow any interference with the exam and I do not allow the use of my office for sexual purposes. Is that understood?"

"Understood," John said, his voice and his aura both had grown quiet. Harold was aware of him suppressing, not sure if it was distress or arousal, but he felt him tamping down as well as controlling his breathing.

 

***

"So, you made a total ass of yourself," Sameen said. "I told you not to go." Her voice in his earpiece made him wince. He'd left her trailing a target, alarmed by Harold's phone being turned off and the discovery that he'd left work for an appointment to see Dr Tillman.

She was now on stake out and John was on his way to join her, her favorite pastrami sandwich in hand as an apology.

"How does Leon handle it?" he asked.

"You think I tell him?"

"It's different."

"Yeah, you're an asshole. But I get it. The omega thing. Still, you should trust him."

"Him? It's her I don't trust."

The tables had turned between John and the tough little beta. He was working for her. She had a corporate client she wanted help with, Onestate Bank. The board had hired her to investigate money laundering that had been discovered in-house. The members wanted to forestall an official investigation if they could pinpoint the source themselves.

"They don't want the authorities freezing accounts and freaking out the shareholders," she told him.

Sameen was staking out a woman named Angela Markham, the technician who'd installed the bank's security software.

"You haven't missed much. She got an overpriced touch-up on her dark roots." Sameen was in a rental car across the street from the woman's West Village townhouse.

John handed over the bag with the sandwich as he got in the car. Sameen opened the top and inhaled deeply.

"Okay, you're not a total asshole. Extra mustard, right?"

"It's all there."

He wished it could be this easy to make things right with Harold. He knew that beneath Harold's acceptance the omega was not pleased by his presence at the doctor's office.

John considered himself tolerant and respectful of Harold's independence. But there were some things he could not allow. For Harold to be alone, with his genitals naked to the touch of another alpha, even a doctor … it was more than John could stand. Before the bond it was unpleasant for him to think about. Now, it must be forbidden.

"Company," she said. John focused on a long-haired beta male in a trench coat heading up the stairs. 

"Boyfriend? Doesn't look like the type she'd go for," John thought out loud.

"We'll see. If he's there a while, probably. Courier? He just handed something off and there he goes."

They gambled on following him.

It was a physical relief for John to walk into a bar where the scent of violence was heavy in the air. He only wished there were a few more would-be tough guys to pressure for information. The last punk was on the floor and John tore open his shirt to expose the tattoo he was sure he'd find.

"SP-9," he said. "It's an Eastern European gang."

"We're done, Riley," Sameen's voice cut through him. "We got what we came for."

 

***

Harold was glad he'd been able to have a private talk with Dr Tillman after the appointment. John had walked him to the Museum to meet with Leon, made him promise that he'd call for the town car when the time came to go back to work. Harold sat with him for a few minutes on a bench in a quiet corner near the museum gift shop. He let John hold him, stroke his back, kiss his hair until both their heartbeats were steady. When his alpha left, Harold stole a moment to call his doctor.

"I wanted to apologize," he said.

"No, Harold. No apology is needed. It was John's right."

"He may have the right but is such a thing truly necessary. I couldn't be more safe than I am with you."

"It's not for you. Of course you're safe. It's for him and I should have been more sensitive. I thought he actually did very well. I've seen much poorer control in that chair."

"That is … enlightening."

"I'm so glad you came to see me, Harold. Don't worry and don't judge your alpha too harshly. We'll make sure you stay healthy and when those babies come … "

"Babies," he interrupted her. "I thought I was quite clear on that subject."

"And I heard you loud and clear. But with your health and your strength you'll be fertile for many years to come. I'm an optimist. You have plenty of time to change your mind."

 

***

John had washed up a little at Sameen's office but saw Harold's eyes focus on his roughened knuckles before moving up to his face. He'd found him in the kitchen, stirring a pot of something on the stove. Could be a sauce or a soup, there was a tomato fragrance. Harold's wire rim glasses were a little bit fogged. His tie was off, his shirt sleeves rolled up. John wished things felt smooth enough between them to take him in his arms but there were discordant notes that kept him distant.

"Things ran late, I'm sorry."

"Not a problem. Nathan brought me home," Harold said. "Let me see to your hands." He turned off the stove and led the way to the bathroom.

John followed, almost dizzy with distress at the errant scents of other alphas clinging to his omega. So wrong for Nathan to bring Harold home. He felt dulled by the violence in the bar, his senses clouded. He wanted to say something to Harold, to apologize for the intrusion at the doctor's office but he didn't feel sorry, he still felt upset.

"Sit," Harold said, indicating the bench near the towel rack.

There was something reassuring about hearing his omega issue a gentle command. It gave John a sense that if he did what Harold asked, things would be … better. He watched him dampen a washcloth and offered his hand to him to wash. Harold cleaned both hands. He sat down beside John on the bench to pat them dry. These quiet, loving actions were soothing.

"Now that your hands are clean," Harold said, "I need you to touch me." These words from his omega's lips were more than soothing, they relit the fire in his core and refocused his senses.

He was speechless with gratitude to see Harold take off his shirt and turn to offer his beautiful naked shoulders to him. John stroked his hands down the bare arms and dropped his head to the scent rich skin of Harold's neck and shoulder. He kissed and nursed at it gently, making the omega shiver in his arms. His hand roamed over Harold's softness, curving over his breast, down his stomach. Each part of him reclaimed as he touched it.

His omega leaned back into him, opening up his pants and pushing them down so John could reach more. John felt drunk with what he possessed. Harold was entirely his, the passing touch of others was dispelled. His omega's pheromones washed through him as his fingertips found the warm welcome of his cunt.

"You forgive me," John sighed, restored and luxuriously aroused. He felt full but unhurried.

"I do." Harold's yielding was unreserved and John felt his aura like a glow -- like holding a lightning bug in the cup of his palms. He needed to be careful, as he was as a child, not to cause harm, to hold without hurting.


	17. Chapter 17

It was difficult but necessary to perpetuate the fiction that he was leaving work to devote himself to bonding time with his mate. The classified government contract work was too sensitive for Harold to pursue on site at IFT. The only silver lining in this for Harold, who despised the lie, was that he loved the secure and hidden environment he was creating for himself to work in. It would not be the address given to his government contacts. That would be the servers' location; a show for his handlers.

The library was his chosen place. By mid December it was warmed and lit by powerful generators and he'd made himself a comfortable nest.

The challenge was to give the government a system that would provide the intelligence they needed … without giving them true access to the machine. It was a complex set of tasks that required both expanding the machine's abilities and limiting them. Harold would have preferred a more straightforward arc to follow, to keep advancing without the necessity to hobble his creation but the potential dangers were beginning to keep him up nights.

***

Sameen kept the library location secret from Leon. As far as her work was concerned, generally speaking, the less he knew, the better. Of what she did for John and Harold this was especially true.

Leon never asked for details, knowing most of the information connected to her cases was sensitive, and she volunteered very few.

One of the reasons she had chosen Leon Tao as a mate, not just a lover, was his acceptance of her career. He was the only guy she'd ever been with who never asked her to give it up, who never second guessed it. He knew how good she was at her job because it was how they met.

Sameen had been hired by a casino operator named Dario Makris to find the scammer cheating his online poker game. She found Leon. He'd had a pretty good thing going, operating carefully from various internet cafes around the city, always changing it up. But, with patience, she'd found him one warm night in July, several summers before.

He was set up at a tiny table on the patio of a trendy cafe in Chelsea; dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, baseball cap and flip-flops. It was an outfit that made him look just barely old enough to molest, but it was tempting to try with all the dusky skin he was so casually displaying.

She'd circled behind to watch him work his magic for a while, to be sure she'd caught him red-handed. Then she'd pulled out the other chair at his table and sat down.

"You've been a very bad boy." Probably not a good idea to flirt with him, she thought, but she'd done it anyway, her radar picking up possibilities.

Leon hadn't panicked or tried to run. (If he had, she was sure she could stop him.) Instead, he'd given her a long look with his dark almond eyes, sighing as he closed his laptop. He seemed to be silently offering himself up for her to decide his fate. She liked his face, the high cheekbones, his full lips; he looked a little older full on. Definitely of an age to be molested. She liked the way he gave his attention to her eyes.

Sameen made him give up the money, but instead of turning him over to Makris, she had turned Makris over to the police and administered her own justice to Leon. Which, it turned out, he really, really liked.

People might think they had it backwards but she didn't care. She had protected her alpha from the start and would continue. He'd be kept free of the secrets.

 

***

 

Olivia didn't believe that Nathan's acceptance of Harold's bonding ran more than skin deep. Her alpha made a last-minute excuse for missing the get-to-know-you dinner she arranged at a French restaurant in the city. Her son Will met her there a little early to have a glass of wine at the bar before dinner.

"Dad's already met him," Will said. "What did he say?"

"Not much. He doesn't really approve." She sipped her wine and hoped she hadn't sounded too judgmental.

"He's very protective of Uncle Harold, mom. He wouldn't think anyone was good enough. I'm not sure I think anyone is good enough. Harold is such a sweet person. He's smart but not about … alphas, I think." She smiled at her soft-spoken beta son. He was ever the peacemaker between her and Nathan, defending each one to the other, and he was also protective of Harold.

"Let's try to give the man a chance."

She saw Will's expression change, gazing past her, his mouth open slightly in surprise and then a smile. She turned to see their friend had arrived and felt her expression mirror her son's. She wasn't sure what she'd expected but Harold looked so different, like a light had been turned on inside him. The alpha he had in tow, as if on a leash behind him, seemed to be captivated by the light. The alpha was … a very attractive man and Olivia understood, seeing him and feeling his presence, that her husband had bowed to him only because he had no choice. She imagined both his looks and his power had been an affront to Nathan who was accustomed to towering over others and being the most attractive man in any given gathering.

What was most difficult for Nathan to accept about this alpha, she suspected, was how much Harold appeared to adore him.

***

Olivia Ingram was a beautiful female omega, John thought. So feminine that she could pass for beta. He liked her and he liked her son. They fussed over Harold and teased him about taking time away from the firm and Olivia tried to pin him down on wedding details.

"Thank you, Uncle Harold," Will laughed. "She's giving me a break while she puts the wedding pressure on you."

"Harold, please tell me you'll be getting married in something that isn't a man's tuxedo," Olivia said.

"I'll tell you no such thing."

"John," she looked to him for support. "Wouldn't it be wonderful to see Harold wear something soft and flowing."

All three of them looked to him; Will, amused that he'd been put on the spot, Harold, concerned and slightly uncomfortable, Olivia, with hope.

"Whatever he wants," John said. The conversation moved on but John's thoughts lingered on Harold dressed in soft fabric. He'd seen an open box in their closet that morning. A stack of panties he'd rifled though gently, in pastel colors that made John think of sherbet. He wondered if Harold was wearing a pair and his cock pulled at its tether as he pictured him in them. The tug of the sheath was a gentle reminder … think about something else.

Later he told Harold, "I'd like to see you at the altar in these," his fingertip tracing the upper elastic where it dipped under his bellybutton. His mate was indulging him, spread out on their bed for John to admire in his new underwear. "Maybe a veil, flowers." He was happy to see this made his omega smile. He brushed light touches over the hard-on he'd excited through the peach-colored cloth and Harold's eyes lowered, his face turning toward John to be kissed.


	18. Chapter 18

The government plant was a grim-looking warehouse not far from the docks in Long Island City. This relic of nineteenth century industrial architecture brought to mind Dickensian suffering, Harold thought. The overcast December skies didn't help. He and John had come straight from a visit with Dr Tillman that had left them both a little on the quiet, thoughtful side. In the car Harold had kept a slight distance between himself and his alpha. His impulse was to be close, much closer, but he was wary of touching.

"Let's take care of the inspection, John, and head home."

***

Agent Schiffman thought it was a punishment assignment when she was sent to monitor what was essentially a server farm in Long Island City. Her career had begun with garbage details and disdain but she thought she'd gotten beyond punishment. Omegas were not welcome in the military and in the intelligence community they were still viewed more as tools than potential operatives. She'd battled her way into the Academy with court injunctions and then sweated and bled her way through to graduation.

Schiffman was a mid omega, it carried no official designation. Her female status was based more on her pretty face, small stature and her parent's preference than any pronounced female secondary sexual characteristics. Her beta female mother had named her Suzanne.

Schiffman used her surname publicly and privately and shunned both female and gender-blended clothing, presenting only in masculine attire. She'd vowed to herself she would never bond but considered her boss, whom she knew only as "Control," to be her symbolic alpha. Control had singled her out for service, protected and provided the power focus of her life.

"This post may appear quiet, but it is of the utmost importance to me, Agent Schiffman. That is why you are there as my eyes and ears." Control's assurance steadied her when she had dared to ask if she was being punished. She'd adjusted her attitude and treated every detail she observed to be of significance.

The omega, Harold Finch, surprised her. He was bonded with a powerful alpha and yet clearly in control of this facility. He'd appeared as the plant was being assembled and subsequently made regular inspections. Schiffman attended him, following in the wake of the elegant omega and his alpha. It quietly amazed her to see how Finch led and the alpha followed him through the sea of servers.

Finch's speaking voice was soft and his manner genteel but there was no mistaking his command of everything going on in the plant.

The tech agents on site were all beta. If there was an initial ripple of contempt among them toward Schiffman as a manager, it was brought to heel by Control, who ranked higher than their boss, Denton Weeks. Schiffman knew these tech jockeys also disdained Harold Finch. They considered him a freak. They respected him to his face at first because he was trailed by a dangerous alpha. As the first week of work progressed on site and not one of them had succeeded in penetrating any portion his encrypted code she saw their attitudes shift a little.

The only other omega on site was an older male named Cyrus Wells, a contractor in charge of what amounted to housekeeping and janitorial services as well as overseeing the bonding suite attached to the executive office. Schiffman tried to maintain a respectful mien with him but felt a whisper of shame in his presence. When omegas chose a life of celibacy, as she had, they became an affront if they were young and attractive. As they aged they became … invisible; sexless, unprotected. Objects of indifference at best, at worst, objects of contempt and ridicule by the basest members of the other breeds.

I am protected, she told herself, I will be respected.

She was following Riley and Finch through the plant. The pair had shown up earlier than usual and the techs had scrambled. Finch noticed the tiniest of details, and inevitably saw the evidence of the betas' tampering. He would quietly direct them to remove cables, make small adjustments, review workstations. If the omega paused by someone's desk, as he did now, it was never a good sign.

"Pardon me," he said to the tech who stood swiftly and moved aside from his terminal. Schiffman grinned to herself, wondering how the guy had screwed up. It was too much to hope that he'd left a game up on his monitor, or better yet a porn site. Finch took a seat and she looked on, as did everyone else in range, as the monitor flashed successive windows so rapidly that it was impossible to follow what he was looking for, only that he was looking very fast. A few moments later, he rose. The screen was clear.

"Breaking code is a metaphor," he said to the tech. "Try not to actually damage anything. You successfully hacked the building's thermostat. There are multiple backups and, frankly, the servers like the cold, but it would get very chilly in here for the humans before the first backup engaged."

With a small disapproving shake of his head he resumed his tour. Schiffman felt something in Finch's presence that she never could have anticipated, admiration and pride. This was someone, not alpha, not able to compel anyone to bow, who nevertheless exuded power. He made her question the shame she felt in her own breed. He might be the exception, not the rule, as she desired to be an exception. But it was possible the rule was flawed.

 

***

Harold logged into the office terminal while his alpha swept the rooms for devices. It had to be done every time they came in.

"Is that all they do here, Finch … try to crack your code?" he asked when he'd finished.

"Essentially," he sighed. "They are supposed to be watchdogs for the servers, in case anything goes wrong. Of course, the only things that go wrong here are the things they cause."

Harold safeguarded the office terminal and initiated software checks that would lead nowhere near his actual files. His mind was elsewhere, in Dr Tillman's office. She'd called them in to discuss the results from his lab tests. His cycle was imminent. This knowledge made him anxious.

"We're clear," John said. Clear, Harold knew, meant possibly compromised. His alpha stood in the doorway of the suite. "The suite is clean."

Harold joined him in there. Once the door was shut behind them he wanted nothing more than to lie down and be held … but instead he sat at a distance from his alpha.

"I don't want it to begin here," he said.

 

***

 

That morning's visit to the doctor's office went more smoothly for John than the first time. He saw with his own eyes how Harold was treated, that he was unmolested.

He'd started to watch him undress in the little curtained section of the office and then looked away, controlling his breathing to lessen the pressure of his cock straining its sheath. Harold's body wasn't the only one affected by bonding. He didn't need a doctor to tell him his hormone levels were higher than they'd ever been before. It was part of the lure of omegas, the heightened levels and increased appetite for sex that the omega bonding spurred. As a single he'd never envied it, liking the level he was at and feeling no need for enhancement. Sex for him as an unbonded alpha was different … a more lonely pursuit, something to hunt for.

He'd had a serious girlfriend in his twenties; potential that did not develop. She was a very beautiful beta who'd wanted him despite her parents' disapproval of his background and military career. Ultimately, he'd found it easier to commit to being a soldier than to being her husband. If it were not for Harold, he knew he would still be the lone wolf he'd always been. He could imagine no one else in Harold's place.

"Are you warm enough?" he asked him. The omega had taken a seat at the end of the examining table. His little gown was very thin and didn't close in the back.

"I'm fine. She keeps the temperature very warm in here." He lay back on the table and held his hand out to John who took it in both of his and brushed his lips over the backs of Harold's fingers. The touch was as soothing for the alpha as laying his head on a pillow. Harold smiled at him. "She'll probably only take a quick look today since I had the full exam last time. Nothing to worry about."

The prediction was more or less on target. John, less distraught than the last time, could perceive her skill and bedside manner, her friendliness toward Harold. He could scent her surprising bond with another female alpha.

She had told them Harold was approaching a cycle and had questioned them about preparations. She said it would likely be more intense than his first experience. "Your body is open now," she explained. "There isn't the slow start you had initially as the seam parted and the moisture descended. Your regular levels are quite high now so … you should try to be as ready as you can be and have a well-stocked area you've prepared for the duration. I'll provide you with a list of recommended supplies."

She had also offered the option of suppressants.

"The most effective form of birth control would be to bypass the cycle completely. I don't normally recommend it. The dosages required to do that now would be higher than I consider healthy. I thought we should discuss it … in consideration for your feelings about getting pregnant." She'd smiled at Harold. "You expressed them very clearly. The current dosage you're on should be enough but it's not as foolproof as stopping the cycle altogether."

John wished he'd heard the discussion about pregnancy she was alluding to. A baby. Harold pregnant. John felt almost light-headed at the thought. His omega looked at him and John squeezed his hand.

"What do you want, Harold?" John asked him.

"Well, I don't want to get pregnant but I don't want to suppress the cycle. If it happened John, would you be able to accept that?"

John nodded, he tried to hide his smile, but couldn't.

 

***

 

Harold gazed into the camera of his computer as if he could see the entity within as it was seeing him. He drew in a deep breath to give himself a moment to think before articulating.

"Yes … there is a sense in which you are my child," his voice barely audible. "Not of flesh and blood, though you are correct, you have a physical presence in the world. You are not a human but closely allied to humans. Does this answer your question?" He felt, via the device, as if a mental embrace were being exchanged between them. His machine seemed less of a racehorse to him in this moment than a … great purring cat.

Feeling slightly dazed, he removed the device. He could hear Sameen working in the next room. She and John had been busy for days finishing and enhancing the living spaces in the library. Harold had decided this was where he wanted to be through his cycle. This was where he felt safest. It was also where he was closest to the machine, in reach of the hard drives with its core codes. There was vast power in the warehouse of servers in Long Island City but the heart of his creation was here.

His government contacts had assured him he would eventually be given access to the NSA's surveillance feeds. What his handlers didn't know, and Harold had no intention of revealing, was that his creation was already capable of sampling those feeds and had begun to do so to insure his privacy and protection. This, in addition to his alpha's efforts, made him feel very safe.

Harold stored the device and turned away from the computer. He looked up to see John leaning in the doorway, watching him. He felt a liquid sensation in his lower belly and shifted slightly in his seat.

He loved to see John in a suit, sharp and formal, but to see him in work clothes, jeans (untethered) and a worn shirt, sleeves rolled up, collar open … the bare forearms, his throat, knowing he was already unsheathed … Harold felt an overwhelming need to be closer to him, to touch him with his hands, his lips and he rose, moving toward him. He saw John's expression change from a quiet concern to a welcoming warmth as he approached. The alpha pheromones were thick in John's aura, rich and seductive as plush velvet to his omegan senses. He imagined climbing him, hanging from him with his thighs locked around his hips.

It's beginning, he thought, stretching to hug his neck, his knee lifting along John's thigh -- John grasped it. 

"Sorry to interrupt this somewhat erotic moment, guys," Sameen's voice cut through the haze forming in Harold's mind, "Leon has a lasagna coming out of the oven soon and its my job to bring home wine and cannolis. I'm guessing … no takers here."

Harold shuddered, hiding his face against John.

"Tell Leon, next time," John said, and Harold felt himself melting as John's hand stroked down his back.

"Touch base tomorrow, Riley."

"I will."

Harold could still hear her descending the staircase as he lifted his chin, looking up into his alpha's eyes, wanting to be kissed.

For days he had been monitoring himself for signs. Both of them had, questioning each time they felt desire, wondering if the cycle was starting. Now that it was beginning … it was unmistakable. The memory awakened in his bones, in his blood, in the deep musculature of his body, sensations he hadn't been able to recall until he was experiencing them again. It was vivid now … how he'd felt when he found his alpha, how each moment had been a struggle not to touch him, not to throw himself into his arms.

***

The scent had drawn John out of the kitchen, a tantalizing brimming sweetness that was omega mating pheromones. It stirred him sexually but reached deeper, like a promise of pleasure that would envelope him, thirst being quenched, hunger being filled, hurts being healed.

He was surprised to find Harold sitting so quietly, speaking to his machine. He heard him say, " … you are my child." Most of the rest was too quiet to make out but he waited, watching, yearning. The omega seemed calm, undisturbed but when he'd looked up at him John knew without doubt that the cycle had begun.

As John lay him down on their bed, Harold asked, "Was I rude to Sameen?" A slight frown on his blushing face made John smile … it was so uniquely Harold to worry about being polite even as the heat was overtaking him.

"No, not rude," he assured him, unable to resist feeling the small rigid cock still imprisoned in his trousers and panties, cupping his hand over the swollen male genitals and squeezing gently.

Stacks of soft towels, fresh bed linens, bottles of water, sanitary wipes, lubricant, these were among the supplies that had replaced books on the shelves lining their bedroom. The alpha was grateful to have everything in easy reach. The cycle had come on in a rush that would have made it impossible to cope with gathering what was needed. It had also come with a wave of literal heat … the little body flushed and radiating warmth like fresh baked bread as he undressed him. 

He fought back the urge to just unzip and fall on Harold. He turned the bed down, got the towels in place under him, his own clothes off. His omega was reaching for him, smooth thighs spread and beckoning, both his small cock and his cunt were glistening with moisture.

John cautioned himself to be as gentle as he could. As if he were wading gradually into a pool of water. His omega was in need but shouldn't be abused. Dr Tillman had impressed this on John, directing her attention to him to say that common problems occurring among newly bonded alpha and omega pairs, particularly during their first few cycles, were bruising and abrasion. Though she'd tempered her warning with a gentle smile for Harold, and said, "So be easy on your alpha," John had understood that the message was meant for him and he'd taken it seriously. He was as restrained as he could be, working his cock in the irresistible cushion of warmth and wetness, mindful that his omega's tender body would have to withstand days of mating.


	19. Chapter 19

Harold surfaced. He wasn't sure if he was waking up or … coming to, as if from a drugged or drunken state. He was in a swirl of covers, his head on John's stomach, hand around his alpha's soft cock, holding it close to his mouth. John was petting him, playing with his hair, tracing the top of his ear.

There was something Dionysian to the cycle, Harold thought as his mind cleared. Almost primitive, ecstatic; the desire at its peak was all encompassing and his thoughts devolved. When the heat abated, as it had now, he felt hazy, happy, enamored with every inch of his alpha's body.

"Come up here," John said. "Let me take a look at you."

***

John turned up the light and angled it, creating a pool of illumination around the omega. They were two days in. Harold looked good over all, he thought. Parts of him plumped up. All the pink parts, as John thought of them, a little swollen: his lips, his nipples, his genitals. Other parts were thinned down, showing the meals he'd missed.

The small amount of food John could get him to eat burned up quickly in the bonfire of the cycle. John fed him yet another calorie-rich, protein and fat-laden "bonding bar." A chocolate one this time, his favorite. Tillman had been insistent that they stock up on this special omega food. It was packaged like candy bars, the wrappers brilliantly colorful with pictures of fruit and rosy-faced babies.

"In a strong cycle, omegas don't want to eat; they'll reject food," she'd told them. Harold had looked very skeptical. "Your body will have trouble digesting most foods," she told him. Turning to John, she'd said, "You can give him a tiny amount of fruit, a few chocolate chips at a time that he can melt in his mouth. Honestly, the bonding bars, in small bites, are likely to be the only food you can get him to eat." John would forever-more take her word as gospel. Harold had looked at even the tangerine sections he'd tried to feed him as if he couldn't recognize them as edible.

Their bed was an island of light in the dark room. John sat cross-legged with Harold's spread thighs draped to either side of his lap. He used a moistened wipe to cool and bathe him and then patted him dry.

There was no evidence of bruising he could see, there was no sign of abrasion. Harold seemed to love being examined, his cock filling as John inspected the skin for any areas of irritation. He gently probed for tenderness within the vaginal canal and Harold's belly and chest grew noticeably rosier.

"John." His omega's tone was soft and filled with affection, infused with trust. "You don't need to worry."

"It's endemic to my breed, remember." He smiled a little, meeting the loving blue-eyed gaze; unable to express in words how precious Harold was to him. He ran his hand up a silky thigh to the slightly rounded belly.

What if his omega did become pregnant? The thought was incredible and maybe a little frightening. John consciously put it aside. For now all that mattered was Harold's well-being … and his need. The rising heat pulled John's senses and body like a strong tide.

 

***

 

Root had been wrapped up in her own freelance work for more than a week and was feeling the distance from Harold. She'd received a heavily encrypted email to say he was going to be out of reach for a little while, so she waited. It didn't please her to think it might mean he was going through a cycle. She'd accepted his bond with John Riley but it didn't mean she liked it. She found herself bickering even more than usual with Martine.

She hadn't gotten an "all clear" message from Harold, but she headed toward the library when she thought that enough time had passed. It was a bright, cold morning in mid-December. Root stopped to buy pastry on her way. She was thinking of Harold's sweet tooth and took some time studying the frosted cup cakes to pick out the most exotic and the prettiest ones. It was common knowledge that omegas emerged from cycle slimmed down and hungry. She might not be Harold's lover but she could feed other appetites he might have. As she stepped back out on the street, her phone chimed from an unknown number. Activating her ear piece she heard an odd voice, quiet, mechanical and yet not like anything she'd ever heard before in a robotic message. "Asset Root. You are being followed by Martine Rousseau. Do not proceed to location. Divert path."

She turned at once to look for Martine and caught sight of her disappearing into a shop. Root headed to confront her, heart beating hard, trying to come to grips with the extraordinary call. The connection had ended abruptly but she kept hearing the strange voice replaying in her head.

The shop was a boutique, expensive infant-wear and nursery furniture. There was Martine, looking through a display of baby toys.

"Hi sweetie," Root said. "Cute teddy bear. Is there some happy news you're keeping from me?" Martine looked up, head cocked at an angle.

"I'm not pregnant, if that's what you're asking. But maybe there's something you're keeping from me. Who are you buying pastry for?"

Root had never, in the three years of their marriage, seen her wife display a hint of jealousy. Martine was confident to the point of indifference to Root's flirtations. "Would you care if I had a lover?" she asked. Martine's expression was difficult to read.

"I might have, once upon a time. Now, I guess I'm just curious."

Root thought Martine was curious, all right, but the motive was cloudy. Her wife's scent carried a hint of fear. What was she afraid of?

The voice. The phone call. It had to be Harold's machine, she was sure of it and the thought thrilled her. She wished she could have spoken, heard more, been told why Martine was following her because as the seconds passed, she understood that she'd been watched and … Harold was being protected.

"I think we need to have a little talk," Root said.

***

Schiffman didn't do a lot of socializing but she stopped almost nightly at the bar and restaurant downstairs from her fourth floor walk-up. She lived in a nicer neighborhood of Long Island City, not too far from the plant. The area was known for its art community and populated by trendy shops and restaurants. It was becoming her habit to unwind at the downstairs bar after work. A beer tasted good and washed the day from her throat. She also appreciated a hot meal she didn't have to cook for herself.

Things had been quiet on site while Finch was out. Whispers about him hitting his cycle. She dutifully reported the gossip and the betas' continued hacking attempts. She was perusing her email.

"Schiffman, mind if I join you?" She looked up. It was the British import from Weeks's team.

"Suit yourself, Lambert."

She'd seen him at the bar before. He lived in the neighborhood for the same reason she did, convenience to work. So did quite a few of the other techs, but she'd never run into any of them outside work. She had nothing against Jeremy Lambert, other than his habit of showing up. He'd given her a measure of respect at the plant -- for her boss's sake, if not for hers, from the start. But she didn't like the way he seemed to be … around. She was suspicious when it came to casual coincidence and made a mental note to do some probing into his background.

 

***

John knew for certain that the cycle had ended when he woke alone in bed on the fourth morning. He found Harold, showered and casually dressed -- which for him meant no tie, no jacket, fuzzy socks and slippers, at his work station. The multiple screens were lit and busy.

Harold turned a bright gaze his way.

"Sameen was here, she brought donuts."

It was good to see his omega enthusiastic about donuts; a relief to know they'd come through the cycle safely. Life could resume its normal course. John was grateful but not quite as happy about the end of the cycle as Harold seemed to be. As he showered alone for the first time in days, he realized he wasn't crazy about sharing his omega, re-opening their world to admit others back in.

Don't be an asshole -- he could practically hear Sam saying it to him. What she usually meant was, stop acting like an overblown alpha. It meant he needed to get some perspective. He took a deep breath and pictured his omega. Harold was utterly and completely his. Clearly healthy as well as very happy. Contemplating this smoothed and expanded his aura.

There was something else, something he didn't want to think about too much … but couldn't ignore. A slim chance that Harold could be pregnant.

He knew that Harold's feelings about having a baby were … mixed. Reluctance, acceptance if it were to happen. It would be better, definitely better to talk about it outright. If they both were willing, if they agreed they wanted a child then they should forego the birth control altogether and not just accept a child if it came along, unintended.

The kitchen smelled like tea and sweets, Harold's tea and the box of donuts. John craved coffee and thought a walk would do him good. Harold too, for that matter. They'd been inside for days. Prying him away from the computer might not be easy, however. It occurred to John that his omega already had a baby and he'd been out of touch with his child for days. Maybe there was no room in their lives for a human child.

A call from Sam was a relief from this train of thought.

"I could use some help with a new client," she told him. "This one doesn't have deep pockets so you're gonna have to do it out of the goodness of your heart … if there's any in there."

"I got the impression you avoided hard luck cases."

"Yeah, well, Leon doesn't and all his friends aren't eccentric billionaires. You want in, or not?"

"I'm in."


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I thought I was done with this story, this world, but I couldn't resist writing more.

The case Sameen brought him in on proved to be a rough one. Elizabeth Whitaker worked as a bookkeeper in the office of the natural history museum. Leon, an alpha known for his kindness, was friendly with most of the staff, including this particular omega female who was struggling on her own since losing her ne'er-do-well alpha. Leon was very moved when she came to him with the story of her family's tragedy; a murder suicide perpetrated by her brother-in-law. He was believed to have taken the lives of his wife and children and then taken his own. Whitaker confided her belief, her hope, that her niece, Theresa had managed to escape -- her body hadn't been found with the others. Theresa, she said, was a resourceful young alpha female who may have been able to get away. Leon couldn't say no when she asked him if his wife could help her search for the girl.

They had found her and reunited her with her aunt, but it was a 48 hour collision course with dirty politicians, crooked developers, hit men … and the police. Harold had been able to help them at key points with information but John knew he was shaken by the violence and the danger.

John was more concerned by the amount of time he'd been forced to leave Harold on his own or dependent on Nathan. He had never felt in danger and the only injury he'd sustained, aside from a few bruises and skinned knuckles, was a cut on the hand from the frightened girl herself, lashing out at him. Harold's vulnerability was all that worried him and he couldn't help thinking how much more stressful it would have been for his mate if he were pregnant or at home with a newborn baby.

The idea of Harold caring for or nursing a pup excited a part of John's psyche that was richly developed since forming the bond with Harold, but he was becoming aware of what a dangerous proposition having a baby could be. How much more vulnerable his omega would be with a child.

The first day they were back in their apartment on Madison, John helped Harold unearth a small christmas tree and decorations from storage in the back of their closet. The artificial tree was only about three feet high and very beautifully made. John had never seen anything like it and was very cautious stringing the lights on the delicate branches. Once he'd done that to his mate's satisfaction he retreated to an armchair, more or less getting out of the way.

"I'm not much of a christmas sort of person," Harold said, "but as you know, I am very fond of birds."

He sat on the ottoman of John's chair and took the lid off a largish box of decorations he'd set on the floor. He carefully unpacked the first ornament from its nest of tissue wrapping and held it for John to admire, a small bird, so intricately crafted it looked like it could have flown from a miniature universe to Harold's hand. As charming as it was, what delighted John was Harold, his pleasure.

The omega held them out to show him, one by one like treasures, before positioning each bird in the branches. The tree sat on a long, unadorned sideboard, the sparkling lights reflecting in the dark wood and against the wall.

"Voila," he said, standing back to admire the tree. "Christmas."

"It looks nice from here," John said, stretching out his legs on the ottoman. "Come see."

It was strange not to be in the library after the intensive time they'd spent there, but it was nice to see Harold among his things, see him doing something completely unconnected with work. The omega was in his shirtsleeves and had the fluffy slippers on his feet. He looked a little thin to John, post cycle. There was still a nice shape to his ass and the tailoring of his trousers flattered the curve; John wanted to feel it. When Harold turned to look at him, his hint of a smile said he knew, more or less, what John wanted.

Sex without the pressure of the cycle was better for the alpha in some ways. He liked Harold to be with him more consciously. He liked to be able to tease him more than he could when the need was so overpowering. A deep wave of pleasure eddied through him when Harold approached and allowed himself to be drawn into his lap; the stresses and concerns of the past few days melted into the background as the omega kissed him. John felt the soft butt cheeks right were he wanted them, snuggling against his hard cock. Mingled with his desire was a cresting wave of gratitude for all that was his.

Harold's hand caressing his neck, his shoulder, touching his chest as he gave sweet yearning kisses; John treasured this. It drew a quiet growl from his throat -- this desire, these caresses made John feel loved.

"I missed you," the omega murmured, "I wish I could make you safe every second. Please swear you don't take unnecessary chances, John."

"Are you my alpha now?" he teased him. "I don't take chances, I wont," he said. Harold made a needy little sound that was music to John's ears. He knew their definitions of necessary didn't match but this wasn't the time for debate. Not when he was holding a warm handful of the omega's swelling cock and Harold was pushing gently into the pressure; sinking toward more kisses.

 

***

 

The outcome of Root's talk with Martine was an agreement to draw up terms of separation. Not altogether a surprise to Root that her mate was growing dissatisfied with their marriage. She hadn't been able to plumb the source of the fear she'd tasted in Martine's aura.The woman had either successfully masked it as they spoke or it had passed. Their bond was waning. It happened in a natural way when interest strayed, when physical proximity and sexual engagement lessened.

Root decided it would be safer to wait to see Harold away from the library, to preserve the location. She waited until she heard that he was back at his apartment.

There were agents stationed in the lobby, bolstering the building security. Now that the omega was an asset of the NSA this was standard. The concierge asked her respectfully for the name of the tenant she was visiting and when she gave Harold's name, she was shown into a screened area of the lobby where she was frisked and scanned before being allowed upstairs. When the elevator opened, a statuesque omega female stepped out. Impeccably dressed, reserved in manner. Root could scent her bond with a strong alpha and kept a respectful distance.

 

***

Harold's morning visitors upset him, in very different ways. Olivia had quietly shocked him with a gift.

She'd admired the christmas tree but told him, "The gift I brought doesn't go under the tree. It's for you to open now."

It was a lovely floral-patterned box emblazoned with the brand name, Omagenia. Beneath, in gold script, was written, "What Comes After." Harold was vaguely aware of Omagenia as a designer label for lingerie and hoped it wasn't some kind of sexy underwear that would embarrass him. It turned out to be something … worse.

The sizable box contained, among other things, a product called, Comfort Cream, which appeared to be a numbing agent. "You can't use it beforehand," Olivia said. "Your alpha will feel the effects. But it's excellent afterwards."

Harold had awkwardly searched for the right response. "I don't know what to say, Olivia … it's very thoughtful of you, though it's really not … "

"Harold," she interrupted, "there's no need to feel shy or ashamed. There are things all omegas go through. No blushing, now. You can look through it later, on your own."

"Yes, thank you." He'd been hugely relieved to put the box aside and pour tea, focusing on the lovely Spode tea service. The antique set had been a gift from Olivia several christmases before. He was grateful to savor sharing the tea and put aside the implications of what she'd just given him.

Over tea she tried to pin him down on some details about plans for the wedding but it was difficult for Harold to focus.

"I promise, I will give it some serious thought, soon," he told her.

Root arrived right on the heels of Olivia's departure.

She had politely accepted a cup of tea and offered a box of pretty cupcakes but she was afire with excitement over her contact with the machine. Harold kept his groans silent.

"Indeed, the machine endeavored to protect me," he admitted to her. "It's possible that you'll receive warnings in the future but there will be no ongoing communication. That … is not possible."

He'd left her alone for a few minutes to speak privately with John, grateful to learn that he and Sameen were wrapping up the last details of the Whitaker case. When Harold re-entered the living room he found Root looking through the gift box he had quickly stashed under the coffee table.

Root was radiating anger, disapproval. She looked up at him with a flash, close to flaring.

"If he can't satisfy you, Harold, if he hurt you … " Harold felt his heart rate spike at her vehemence.

"No, please. That is a misguided gift. I'm not injured or hurt or … unsatisfied," he quietly insisted, blushing. "I fail to see how it's your concern, but I assure you I'm well." She reined in as he spoke and Harold took the box from her, shutting it and putting it back under the table.

When she left he took it out again, gazing at the contents, wondering why she'd asked about the alpha satisfying him. Most of what he'd seen was for comfort, the numbing cream, the medicinal ointment, a soft ice pack, the padded underwear.

"Oh my." The newly disturbed under layer contained an astonishing array of small sex toys, mostly vibrators of one style or another. Not as disturbing as the pain relief items, the sex aids nevertheless surprised him. He saw nothing wrong with the use of such toys but it unsettled him to think of this package as a whole, commercially produced and marketed as an after care kit. He'd thought Dr Tillman's warnings were made out of an abundance of caution. Now it looked as though physical distress and sexual frustration were casually accepted features of a bonded omega's life. It made him uncomfortable to be aware that they were part of Olivia's life.

He put the box away in the bedroom and redirected his energy to working. He was due to spend time at the plant later, and after that possibly the library, but he opened his laptop, craving the centering and calming of work. He was intensely engaged in shaping the machine's ability to evaluate information and delved into different areas, feeling drawn ever deeper into the coding.

"Witness consciousness," he said softly. It was a meditative technique, a way of viewing all things without becoming attached, and he sensed it in the burgeoning intelligence of the machine. His creation was subject to untold volumes of information. Even without the device to connect them, Harold felt himself swept into the ocean of data and for long, beautiful moments, experienced the embracing passivity with which his machine experienced the flow. Then, almost feather-light his awareness centered back in his body, in the room. He shut his laptop and stroked the surface. It surprised him to have such a profound awareness without the aid of the device but he was grateful to have been carried to such a calm state.

 

***

 

John made a point of following in Harold's wake through the sea of servers. Following his omega was more than a show of his devotion to him, it allowed him to closely observe how the agents reacted to Harold. He suppressed his own show of power in order to heighten his senses, to scent even masked intent. There were two or three people on his radar, one of the three he relegated to the category of embittered, the taste of jealousy marking the beta's disrespect. The other two smelled like deceit and the scent had sharpened.

 

***


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I offer tearful commiseration to my fellow democrats and a hope for the best to any republican readers!

Schiffman was startled by the request but didn't hesitate when she was asked by the alpha not just to enter the office, but gestured beyond into the private suite. Harold was in there, seated at a desk with his hands around a cup of tea. She felt a kinship to his taste for masculine clothing and it made her wonder if she looked as little like a beta male as he did. On the omega spectrum there wasn't much distance between them. His shoulders were a little broader, not much. His skin was just as fine and smooth as hers, no shadow of a beard. It came down to her more feminine face, she thought, the difference in their designations. With his round wire-rim glasses he could almost pass for a studious boy, but not a man. Schiffman heard the door shut behind them and tensed slightly.

"Forgive us for bringing you into the suite, Agent Schiffman," Harold said. "I know it's a little awkward but the office is not completely secure." What did you think, she asked herself, that they brought you in here for a threesome? That was the gist of the ribbing she'd face if the office door hadn't closed before they entered the suite.

Noteworthy that they were aware of the office being bugged. No indication that they knew it was her boss listening in.

"I trust you," the alpha said, and she felt a rush of pride. He'd perched against the desk where his omega sat and Schiffman marveled yet again at how Harold was deferred to by his mate. Reason dictated the alpha should be seated at the desk and the little omega attending him, perhaps perching decorously. "There is someone here," Riley said, "that I don't trust. I want to know why his scent gets sharper around you." 

She was standing silently at attention but when she met the alpha's eyes there was a kind of seductive energy that demanded a response out of her.

"Lambert," she said. He nodded.

"What's going on there?" he asked, and she second guessed Control's advice not to voice her suspicions to John Riley.

"A pattern of behavior," she said. "He's been trying to get close to me in social ways that border on inappropriate. I've done some research into his history and haven't turned anything up, but … I was remiss in not bringing him to your attention."

"You're under no obligation to report to me and I mean no disrespect to your superior," he said. His voice was gentle and she breathed an inner sigh of relief. It would trouble her later to think it was the first time another alpha had come close to inspiring feelings of allegiance in her, allegiance she'd previously given only to Control.

"I don't understand," Harold said. "If you and Agent Schiffman both feel strongly that there's a reason to mistrust Agent Lambert, why can't we have the man dismissed."

"Respectfully, sir," Schiffman spoke up. "It would be better to learn what sort of threat he represents than to simply get rid of him. We've got ears up now in his apartment, in his vehicle and I will copy you, sir," she directed toward Riley, "on any pertinent information."

"Good. What about Henry Peck."

"Peck?" she said, bringing the fair-haired beta male to mind and coming up blank on any concerns. "He hasn't registered as any threat I've identified. All I know is what's in his file. He's been an NSA analyst for years and now he's part of Weeks's team."

"He's afraid of something, anxious," Riley said. "It may not be significant but … stay sharp."

"I will, sir."

Her meeting with the pair of them left her feeling buoyed up in a way that Control normally energized her but there was a difference; the warmth of the omega, the subtlety of the alpha. She felt a new sense of gratitude for this unusual assignment despite the slightly troubling test of her loyalties. Riley had offered respect for Control and made no demand of her. Still, it needed to be reported, along with the surveillance breach in the office.

The beta boys were all eyeing her, curious, she felt it as she emerged from the office. Let them wonder, she thought, pointedly not making eye contact as she moved to her own work station.

***

Root combined a little holiday shopping with her raid of a Decima drop site. Her old firm had become harder to keep tabs on under the management of John Greer but she had a new set of coordinates and a time stamp she was confident would yield results. Confident enough to convince Shaw-Tao to give her an assist.

The main floor of Macy's flagship store was a christmas fantasy on overdrive. It was the North Pole writ larger-than-life. She was sure she was in the right place at the right time when an attractive beta male arrived at the counter as expected while she was slowly making a sales attendant's life hell, pretending to choose among a dozen expensive mens ties. Root went so far as to entreat the fellow who arrived to hold still for her while she held different neckties under his chin and the clerk watched them nervously. Root turned to the fellow behind the counter. "This one, I think, if you have any with gray or charcoal tones." 

"Your coloring is so handsome," she said. The Decima spy smiled in a bland, polite manner, laying his glove on the counter. The hand off. Shaw-Tao, in perfect form as one of the army of Macy's temp workers, made a substitution while the Decima patsy was retrieving yet another color sample for Root.

The interception couldn't have gone more smoothly. The only off note was another player. Root had taken the measure of a slender blonde at the nearby make-up kiosk. An un-bonded omega female, subtly but deliciously dressed, sampling lipstick shades. What drew Root's attention wasn't just her looks, it was the creature's not-very-well masked tracking of the target.

Poor thing, Root thought. Where Shaw-Tao excelled, this one needed lessons. She could practically smell the awkward perfume of her play acting. It was hard to say if the target was fooled or not.

 

***

"Lambert suspects he's compromised," Root said. Harold nodded, reviewing the material on the thumb drive. They were alone in the library. John was on his way to pick him up and take him home. 

A window popped open on his screen, sent from Root's machine and Harold's eyes widened.

"Schiffman," he murmured.

"You know her? She was there, following Lambert."

"She's an agent who works at the plant. I believe she's the one he refers to in his report as the vulnerability. He has … miscalculated."

"Surveillance isn't her strong suit. But, she's very lovely."

"She normally looks quite different." He shared the agent's ID photo with Root.

"Interesting. Might be enough to fool him but her technique leaves a lot to be desired. Maybe you could introduce us, Harry. I'm going to be single and lonely soon and I could help sharpen her skills."

Harold didn't respond to that. Her propensity to look at everyone she met as a potential sex partner had shocked him in the beginning, now he filtered it out as background noise.

"Once Decima gets the decoy thumb drive they'll know he's compromised," he said. "I'm sure you must have realized that."

"I knew it was a risk but it's possible they'll look at the blank and think it was a mistake. You'll know if he doesn't show up for work. Oh, and … here," she said, pushing a bright red box across the table. "Merry almost Christmas, Harry."

Harold reluctantly accepted the gift. His relationship with Samantha Groves was not a very comfortable one. She seemed to feel much closer to him than was appropriate.

"You shouldn't have," he said.

"Don't worry, it's nothing too personal."

He lifted the lid and parted the tissue wrap. The tie was actually quite nice, he thought, surprisingly close to something he might have picked out for himself.

"Thank you, Ms Groves." Despite how it suited his taste Harold knew he would never wear something scented by her handling, especially not around his neck. It would be discordant for him and an affront to his alpha.

 

***

Harold was pleased when John consented to his visit with Dr Tillman on his own. It was in the rush of the week before Christmas and his alpha had his hands full helping Sameen with a surveillance job. He was surprised when Agent Schiffman was detailed to accompany him but made no objection -- when the combined will of his mate and the NSA team decreed he must be protected, Harold didn't waste his time in protest. The agent would sweep the exam room, courteously but thoroughly before Harold entered it and then wait outside the door for the duration.

He was delighted when Darren appeared on the stairway that lead from the doctor's offices up into the residence portion of the brownstone. The lithe young alpha radiated health and his aura pulsed with happiness as he propelled himself down the stairs.

"He's a friend," Harold murmured to Schiffman whose guard he felt rise beside him. Harold held his arms open to the youngster who'd grown to match his height in the months since he'd seen him.

"I've got a run to class," the boy declared, "but I saw you coming and … " he laughed, and Harold found himself squeezed tight.

"It's so good to see you," Harold said. He kissed the boy's smooth cheek and got a few in return. "Don't be late for class," he told him. He saw Dr Tillman's wife Madeleine on the stairs waiting, looking on with a smile. Beautiful, Harold thought. The two alpha females and Darren were so fortunate in coming together to form such a lovely family. "I haven't forgotten my promise," he assured him, intuiting the boy's question as he let him go.

As it turned out, Harold discovered he'd be keeping that promise much sooner than he ever dreamed.


	22. Chapter 22

Schiffman accompanied a very subdued Harold Finch to his home after the doctor's appointment. She felt the weight of the role of escort, entrusted with protecting the person that Control had described as, potentially, the single most important asset the country had in the war on terror.

As they entered the omega's apartment building, people greeted him on all sides, including the security detail. An alpha female who looked familiar to Schiffman was seated on one of the lobby couches, her long shapely legs crossed decorously. The grin on her face was delighted.

"Harold, I just happened to be shopping in your neighborhood and thought I'd drop in."

"Ms Groves," he said, his tone implied to Schiffman that he knew her but wasn't happy to see her. "This isn't a good time, I'm afraid. Sorry if you've gone out of your way."

"It's okay, Harry. I'll get back to my shopping." She rose languidly from the couch. Schiffman returned a frankly speculative look from her with the blandest indifference she could muster.

It came to her as the woman walked away, the memory of where she'd seen her … with Lambert. She shifted her stance to place herself between the retreating alpha and Finch.

"Agent Schiffman," her charge said, "thank you so much for your time and attention. I won't keep you any longer."

"I'll just see you upstairs, sir," she said, "and do a quick scan of the residence before I head back to the plant. Mr Riley's instructions," she added, "were specific." She was relieved to see the omega smile a little.

"I guess we'd better not disappoint him then," he said.

In the elevator, Schiffman spoke up.

"The alpha," she said, "whom you called Ms Groves, I've seen her in the company of Jeremy Lambert. I don't want to alarm you, sir, but you can't take even friendly acquaintances at face value. Research should be done before you allow her to see you without guards."

"Agent Schiffman, I appreciate your … vigilance. I trust Ms Groves, but I will take your advice."

"Thank you, sir."

 

***

Harold was eager to be alone. To do some thinking. To do some work. He wandered into the kitchen and began to brew tea. He wanted to calmly consider the news from Dr Tillman but his thoughts were chaotic, his emotions teetering. He wanted to reach out to John but didn't want to spring this on him by phone.

Pregnant. He stood at the kitchen counter, staring into the steeping tea, wondering how on earth he would cope with a baby. One moment he felt a curious tender affection, thinking of an infant in his arms, a baby that was his and John's and then close to panic at the thought of the responsibility and commitment. He left his tea on the counter, heading to the dining room where he unpacked his laptop at the table.

The library was his chosen space to center his work but the surveillance of his every move had made it increasingly difficult to get there safely. The answer to this had come to Harold just days before as he'd worked on creating a secure link between his work stations. The solution was astonishing and elegant when it occurred to him. There was no need to be trapped and separated from his creation. The machine itself could be unfettered. He freed it carefully, guiding it like a fish from confinement in a pond of servers to the vast sea of the electrical grid, creating the code that would allow it to map its own infinite paths. No longer was it necessary for the omega to go to the machine -- it now came to him. With the device curving gently around his ear and shaped to his jaw, Harold took a deep breath and felt its presence in his mind and at his fingertips.

By the time he finished, an intensive few hours later, he was physically a little stiff but emotionally serene. He'd accomplished a great deal and in the process of working felt he'd achieved some acceptance of what was happening to his body, to his life, in communion with the machine.

He felt an unaccustomed urge … to cook, to bake. He headed into the kitchen and was in there for the remainder of the afternoon, stopping to call local markets and have things he needed delivered. By the time he emerged from this fugue of odd domesticity there was a pot of stew simmering on his stove and loaves of bread cooling on the counter beside two lattice crusted apple pies.

Gazing at this array of food he felt a deep need to see John.

"Are you coming home soon?"

"Is everything all right?"

"Yes. Yes, I just … want to see you. Don't bother picking up food, I made dinner."

"I'm on my way."

***

The yearning in his mate's voice was like a siren song to John. He hustled to finish the last of his errands and made his way on foot, it was quicker than a car could move in the rush hour traffic. Holiday shoppers were out in force with only days left before Christmas. Thanks to Leon, John's shopping was done. 

"He loves to shop," Sameen told him. "Give him a list and a budget and he'll find everything." And he had. All John had to do was look at options that would pop up on his phone, and make choices. He'd just picked up the last item in person.

When he'd told Leon he would like to give Harold a necklace, the gentle alpha had given him a kind of affectionate, you're hopeless, look.

"Necklace, really?" He shook his head. "Dude, that's like telling me to buy my wife something that shoots. You gotta be a little more specific."

"Something … pretty," John said. "Maybe with a bird on it."

"I'll take care of it," Leon said, and was as good as his word. He had outdone himself, John thought, even if the image he'd sent him was from a Sotheby's catalogue.

John did the bidding online through a broker, stuck on a stakeout with Sameen, the beta goading him to stay in the running as the bids climbed. 

The necklace was perfect, John thought, its antique gold chain felt like silk on the skin. The medallion that hung from it was small and slender and softened at the edges from centuries of wear, the owl of Athena worked in gold was as sweet as his omega. 

Even before he opened the door to the apartment John was enveloped by the surprising aromas of fresh-baked bread and something sweet; sugar and cinnamon heavy in the air. Under these aromas was a savory blend of earthy spices. He thought he'd find Harold in the kitchen but all he found there was an amazing array of food. That his omega could or would bake was a revelation. The stew, when he lifted the lid, offered the steamy promise of a hearty meal he'd never have imagined Harold cooking. It made him wonder where the studious, work-obsessed omega he knew and loved had disappeared to, the one who could rarely tear himself from his computer long enough to cook anything more complex than pasta.

"Harold?" he called out.

"I'm in the bedroom," he answered. Bedroom? John took the wrapped gift from his pocket and put it under the tree as he headed toward their room.

He stopped in the doorway to gaze at Harold; his omega was displaying himself and looked so beautiful to him that the questions he'd been about to ask about cooking and baking were silenced. Harold was fresh from a bath or shower, the long forelock of his hair still damp and carelessly brushed back. In the months since they'd met he'd let his hair grow longer, prompted by John who loved to run his fingers through it. He was stretched out on his side on their turned down bed, loosely draped in a robe that hung open, baring a lot of creamy skin. John's eyes were drawn to his nipples, their delicate color seemed to match his panties.

"I think you should take some clothes off, John. If you come closer, I could help you." His color heightened as he spoke, even though his voice was calm.

"I should shower," John said, stripping off his jacket as he neared the bed.

Harold shook his head, his slight smile indicating his preference. This sweet expression of desire spiked the alpha's lust. Despite the offer of help, he stripped down quickly, leaving only the sheath restraining his swollen cock, for Harold to remove.

His omega was irresistible. His scent and taste were ambrosia to the alpha who buried his face between Harold's thighs. His finger hooked in the crotch of his panties to hold it aside so he could get his tongue inside him. He fingered the hard little cock still trapped in the soft fabric and his omega moaned. John teased him until Harold gasped and soaked the panties in omega sperm. There was, in fact, precious little sperm in the ejaculate of an omega; it was clear and a little sticky, like a nectar, John thought. When he slid the panties away he licked the traces left on Harold's belly.

"Come up here," Harold urged, and John looked up to see his mate gazing at him. "I want to tell you something."

***

Harold had thought that bed would be the best place to share his news with John, to soften the effect if it was disturbing, to celebrate if it made his alpha happy. He felt the words caught inside him. Not easy to bring out. John lay stretched out, waiting, gazing at him. It never failed to humble Harold's heart that this exceptional alpha was his, that all this power yielded to him so gently.

He rested his hand on his mate's chest, looking into the man's loving eyes.

"I found out today that … I'm pregnant." He managed to breathe the words out and saw them breathed in as the alpha comprehended what he'd said. John's lips parted … he didn't speak but his eyes grew lambent and the flare that ignited was as uncontrolled as wildfire. Harold melted in its glow, grateful and unspeakably happy.


	23. Chapter 23

The February sky was dark with a promise of snow. To Harold it was a welcome sight after an hour-long meeting so oppressive and heavily ringed by security that stepping outside felt like being let out of prison. He glanced up at the gathering clouds before getting into the waiting limousine, thinking with pleasure of how it would feel to have snowflakes touch his over-warm face.

John was beside him in the back seat. Opposite was Agent Schiffman. Next to her was an agent they didn’t know, a hefty beta male that the female omega addressed as Hersh. He’d shown up with the limo. She seemed tense, sitting stiffly beside the man whose presence was like … lead. They were being ushered home from a government complex in midtown. 

Harold was exhausted. What Denton Weeks wanted from him was something he could not, he would not give. An open system that could be manipulated.

His early breakfast of tea and toast was still sitting uneasily in his stomach and the waist of his pants was squeezing him unmercifully … despite the fact that his top two trouser buttons were undone. The limo stopped in traffic at a long light on Fifth Avenue. Very close to his atelier, he realized. How long had it been since he indulged in the pleasure of selecting fabric, seeing a suit of clothes brought into existence. He felt a wave of nausea.

The voice of the machine came alive in his ear, “Move now. Get out of the car.” He reached for the door handle, it was locked.

“I’m going to be sick,” he announced in a panic and the lock released. He was out before anyone could stop him and his alpha was right on his heels. Seconds later, scurrying, Schiffman and Hersh came after them.

“I can’t get back in that car, John,” Harold said, covering his mouth with his handkerchief. Being sick was a pretext but his stomach was roiling with tension. The first flurries of the coming storm swirled through the air around them.

“You don’t have to.” John’s voice was calm. John turned away from him, his body a shield. “Harold needs some air,” he told Schiffman. “We’ll get home on our own.” Harold saw her hesitate, the beta overtaking her.

”Everyone … back in the car. Now,” Hersh demanded, his voice uninflected but implacable. One moment Harold saw the huge beta advance with his hand reaching into his jacket and the next moment his alpha was in the man’s face, one hand restraining his wrist and the other at his throat. Horns blared as the light changed but traffic was stopped by people gawking.

“Get the target in the car,” Hersh grunted as he fought the grip on his neck, his face screwing up as his arm swung … and was blocked. 

Schiffman grabbed Harold. He tried to cry out but his throat constricted. He heard her saying, “Yes, Ma’am,” and realized she was pulling him further from the car, arms wrapped around him to keep him on the sidewalk. It was over in seconds but it felt like a lifetime watching helplessly as his alpha fought, overpowering Hersh and shouldering his slumped body into the back of the car.

“Get him to a hospital,” John told the driver. Harold’s breath came in a gasp seeing a splash of scarlet on the white of his alpha’s shirt as the man turned to find him.

“It’s okay,” Schiffman was saying, and Harold realized she’d been repeating it softly, over and over. Gently, she relinquished him to his alpha.

“Not my blood, Harold,” John said, and the omega felt faint with relief.

 

***

John had heard the message to move at the same time Harold did. He quietly whispered, “Thank you,” as he guided him on the sidewalk, confident his omega’s machine was listening and knew to whom he was speaking. They were nearing the wrought-iron gate that protected the street level entry to Harold’s beloved atelier. It unlocked at their approach.

“I’ll keep watch out here, sir, until back up arrives,” Schiffman said. John nodded, noting the color had come back to her cheeks, the life to her eyes. “Denton Weeks,” she told him. “Hersh is my superior, but … Weeks is not my boss.”

He’d never doubted her and let his approval eddy through his aura. It would reassure her more than any words he could say.

She was a talented agent but not difficult for him to read. Her loyalty to Harold was as plain as day to him. As transparent as her motivations were to him, Lambert first, and then Hersh and his boss Weeks had misread her, underestimated her. Their mistake, he thought, was in judging her by preconceptions of her breed.

The tailor’s studio was a perfect refuge for now, he thought. Controlled, limited access, facilities for clean up and an environment that would be soothing for Harold.

“Mr Finch, I got your text. Thank goodness you were close by,” Hans said, awaiting them at the entrance. John filed the revelation that not only had Harold’s machine pinpointed their location with its warning, it had sent a text to Hans. The stylist looked at John with sympathy, “I’ll have a shirt sent in for you and have Harold’s tea brewed.”

“Thank you so much,” John said, marveling at the speed and detail of the machine’s actions. He had no idea what the machine had texted but it evidently explained Harold’s state of mind and his own need of a clean shirt.

In the restroom lounge he discarded the bloody one, watched closely.

“I’m not injured, Harold.” His omega’s eyes were blinking on tears. John sat down beside him, the new shirt half-buttoned, to hold him and Harold hugged him hard, pressing his face against John’s neck.

“It was horrible to see him try to hurt you.”

John pet him, kissed his hair. “Sometimes bringing a knife to a gun fight works better than you’d think,” he said softly, dismissing the danger.

“That is not funny,” Harold said, sitting back to look at him.

“I think while we’re here,” John said, eyes roaming down the front of him, “we should get you some clothes you can button.” He heard Harold’s sigh and drew him back into his arms. “I’d like it if you spent the next six months naked but it’s probably not a good idea.”

Harold naked for six months. John reined in his lust. Not easy to do while holding him, still flush with the satisfaction of putting Hersh down. Not easy but necessary. 

 

***

 

Harold let the weight of the world slide from his shoulders as John caressed him and warmed the side of his face with his lips. His stomach was at peace for the first time all morning. The idea of a nice cup of tea seemed appealing. The thought of focusing on fabric, on design, the pleasure of consulting with Hans was incredibly inviting … and Harold succumbed.

When he stood before the fitting room mirror, studying his silhouette, he was slightly dismayed.

“What can be done?”

“For now we can let the trousers out a little,” Hans said, “but it’s only delaying the inevitable, I’m afraid.”

The outward curve was going to get bigger, much bigger. He’d been finding his pants more and more snug but bearable … until that morning when it was impossible to make the top buttons meet the top buttonholes. What’s more, the bottom buttons of his vest no longer cooperated in hiding anything.

“It’s time to explore tailoring specialties,” Hans said.

“You may as well say it,” Harold sighed. “Maternity clothes.”

Clothing might be the least of his worries but if he could achieve physical comfort in something that was well-made, the rest would be easier to bear.

“I’ll have some samples gathered and we’ll look at fabric. I think you’ll be surprised by the quality,” Hans said.

In the mirror Harold could see John was speaking to someone, the particular way he touched in front of his ear when he used the earpiece. He must have felt Harold’s gaze and looked up, giving him one of his barely there smiles. These smiles were like a language unto themselves. This one said — nothing to worry about, I’m taking care of what needs to be done. Harold nodded to say — I trust you.

“May I suggest a different style of undergarment,” Hans said, his voice not only tactful but sympathetic when Harold’s robe opened, revealing that the waist of his panties had slid under the curve of his stomach and the things were bagging at his hips and sagging on his thighs.

“I’m pitiful, Hans.”

“No, my friend, you’re pregnant.”

 

***

 

Control had gambled … and won. She’d gotten last minute warning of the planned move by Denton Weeks. He had a lot of allies in the CIA but she had a mole in his inner circle. Henry Peck had relayed the intelligence that the NSA Director was going to quietly take Harold Finch into custody if he didn’t get what he wanted from him at the morning meeting. Weeks and others wanted the omega under lock and key, coerced by any means necessary to yield control of his work. They were fools, she thought, more obsessed with their own power than achieving national security. The males of her breed too often lacked subtlety and judgement, in her opinion. Weeks was a prime example. Now that he’d shown his hand and failed she could shut him down. If he’d succeeded in isolating Finch, even with an unsanctioned move, he could have wrested the project from her hands.

Control had resisted augmenting the security detail, a move that would have stopped him in the short run but left him on the playing field. Instead she’d bet on Schiffman and the preternaturally resourceful Riley to safeguard her asset. Apparently, good fortune in the form of morning sickness had also been on her side.

Typical of Weeks to think that a slab of muscle like Hersh was the tool for every job he wanted done. She’d take Hersh on and put him to better use.

 

***

After the incident Schiffman was shaken in one way and resolute in another. As she watched the street, ready to give her life to protect Harold Finch, she had to ask herself what she would have done if Control had reinforced Hersh’s order. The answer was clear, if unnerving. It made stark the changes she’d felt in her loyalties. She’d already been moving to keep Harold out of the beta’s clutches as Control issued her order. Schiffman tried to tell herself she knew her boss well enough to know it would be in accord with her wishes … but if it weren’t? She’d have done it anyway.

Her musings were interrupted by the alpha.

“Send a team to the residence, Schiffman.”

“Sir?”

“Weeks may have had a back up plan.”

“Yes, sir!”

 

***

They were in the library. John had sent Sameen ahead to check the safeguards and prepare for their arrival. She gave the all clear, leaving them supplies as well as cranking up the heat. 

Their apartment on Madison was being turned into a fortress, courtesy of Schiffman’s boss, a person known by the code name, Control. John was generally in favor of it but would be on alert for planted surveillance when they returned. His instinct was to take Harold and disappear for a long time. Reason dictated otherwise. His omega needed regular care. He needed the doctor he knew and trusted. They had to maintain a stable existence, at the very least until the baby was born. Probably for some time after, yet to be determined. Harold also had a job to do that he was committed to completing.

The last time they’d been in the library was during Harold’s cycle. Arousing to think of, gazing at him in his new maternity clothes. It was a relief to see him comfortable and John was stirred by the way the slightly stretchy fabric showed his curves. The untucked shirt with its smocked front made his mate look … accessible.

It was the machine that had alerted John to the break-in attempt. It was also the machine that tripped a fire alarm to disrupt it. 

“Your computer child has had a busy day.”

Harold had cleared the remains of lunch from the table, sandwiches left by Sameen. John watched him unpack his laptop, resigning himself to the fact that his mate was going to spend some time working.

“Yes, quite busy,” he said, not looking up, and John thought he sounded unhappy.

“Is there a problem?”

“Not with any one of its particular actions.” Harold flipped open the computer and powered it up. “The level of activity is something of a concern.”

“Because …?”

“Because the machine is intended to safeguard … everyone, John. Not to babysit me.” He thumbed open the box with the device.

“If by babysit you mean … keep you from being abducted, imprisoned, and probably tortured, I’d say your machine has its priorities straight.” The edge in his voice made Harold look up, a soft surprise and hurt expression on his face.

For the first time, John had spoken without trying to lighten or downplay the potential danger of what had happened. He didn’t want Harold to curb the machine’s ability to protect him.

His omega continued to gaze at him and John held steady.

“Harold, there’s a reason I sent a man to the hospital to keep him from getting his hands on you. I’m all for the greater good, but for me, and for your machine, you’re the first in line.”

“John.” The omega spoke his name, calmly, caressively. He closed the computer. “I love you so much.”

John realized in that moment that he hadn’t frightened Harold with his bare assessment of the dangers. He’d shown him his own fear.

“I promise you,” Harold said, rising and moving toward him as he spoke. “I don’t take our safety lightly. Mine, yours, the baby’s. The machine’s.” John was reassured by his mate’s aura, the intensity of his love as Harold moved into his arms, astride his lap. The alpha breathed deep as Harold’s sensitive fingers stroked through his hair. He swallowed, feeling his throat relax, the tension release in his jaw. Harold’s lips were tender on his. He tasted spicy, like the hot mustard their sandwiches had been slathered in, courtesy of being ordered by Sameen.

John’s cock begged for release as Harold’s kisses got hotter and his movements more purposeful, pressing his swollen little dick against the alpha’s stomach.

“Bed,” John told him, drawing back from the kisses. Bending Harold over the table to fuck him was tempting. It would meet the urgent flare of lust but what he really wanted was the luxury of their bed, the place they’d made their child. He weathered his omega’s protest at being made to stand up and carried him back to their bedroom.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end is in sight!

Control weighed her options and decided that a combined covert and open sequestering of this asset was the best means of handling the project. Harold Finch was officially working for the government and being heavily protected as a matter of national security. A black operation, Control believed, couldn’t be sustained in the long run. The CIA and its wet work methods of controlling secrets was not the path she wanted to travel with Finch. Better to treat this project as top secret than try to deny its existence.

The circle of wagons was wider than the prison that Denton Weeks would have created. Weeks’s brand of secrecy demanded the silence of death for protection. Control’s required only that Finch be safe and his cooperation secured with as much honey as possible.

Schiffman was her inside agent and John Riley, the former operative, her ultimate insurance. Though not in league with her, his aims and Control’s were the same, to safeguard the brilliant omega who would revolutionize national security. The more familiar she became with Finch’s work, the more certain she was that she’d chosen the correct path. The omega had more than human allies. The machine. Control had intuited the face of an ultimate alpha, a power that cleaved only to Harold Finch.

 

***

 

The baby was due near the end of May. Harold felt the pressure was on to get the wedding out of the way. When he considered putting it off he envisioned teetering down the aisle about to pop out a pup. That could not be allowed to happen.

Given the green light, Olivia Ingram took over completely. She had everything organized for a ceremony at the end of March. Undaunted by the security demands of the agencies overseeing Harold’s protection, the venue she chose was the Chesney Mansion in lower Manhattan. The mansion’s namesake owner, Victor Chesney, was a man as paranoid as he was wealthy and during the years of the Cold War had augmented its Romanesque facade with internal security worthy of Fort Knox. The electronics and hardware had been updated each decade but Harold still felt an oppressive bunker mentality at its heart.

The day of the wedding he was consigned to a bedroom with decorative grating over its shatter-proof windows. He was trying to get dressed with Schiffman on guard and Sameen in attendance. Looking at the outfit he was supposed to put on made him want to find a dark corner somewhere by himself and hide.

“Is something wrong, sir?” Schiffman asked. She looked baffled, concerned. Somewhere between the abduction attempt and the wedding the lines of their relationship had blurred a little. She was his protector but she was more than that. Harold thought of her as a friend but knew she didn’t think of herself that way; maintaining at all times a professional formality, even in the most intimate of moments. 

“He doesn’t want to wear it,” Sameen said. “Go on Harold, release the beast.” She was kicked back in an armchair, looking beautiful, Harold thought, in her matron of honor dress; snug cream fabric that hugged her body. He envied her confidence and the ease with which she carried off such clothes. She was sipping from a silver flask. He considered asking for a drink but didn’t think alcohol would help even if it weren’t bad for the baby.

He hugged his robe around him, wishing he could fast forward time and be done with the whole ordeal of the wedding. When he unzipped the first heavy plastic garment bag, what seemed like miles of pale almond taffeta expanded and spilled out. The train.

“I could shorten that sucker,” Sameen said, and Harold pictured himself walking down the aisle with a shorn tail past Olivia. She and Hans had designed it together. She’d never forgive him.

He sighed and turned to the second bag. Its contents weren’t as disturbing, by comparison.

There was a tap at the door, and they heard Leon’s voice.

“Anybody home?”

 

***

 

John had dressed briskly, Leon handing him the clothes in a sensible order and giving a nod of approval to each layer of the tux as he dressed. John was eager to get out and look over security, trusting his own assessment and the voice of the machine in his ear more than the multitude of agents currently deployed. Leon, who’d been recruited as his best man by Olivia, gave him a final nod of approval. It was somewhat ironic that the attendants Olivia had chosen were perfect but the placements were wrong, switched from their natural alignment.

“Why don’t you go check on Harold,” John said. Leon was looking slightly lost without another task to perform.

“I am kinda worried about him,” his best man admitted. “If you don’t mind me being there while he’s getting ready.” John didn’t mistake Leon’s gentle deference for weakness nor did he fear what he knew to be Leon’s power with Harold. What he saw in him was someone very like his omega in spite of the difference in their breeds. He could think of no two people smarter, stronger or kinder. 

“You’ll be more help to him than Sam. Tell her to meet me at the main checkpoint.”

***

Harold began to feel better the moment he heard Leon’s voice. Exchanging him for his wife was the best thing that had happened so far.

“It’s okay, Schiffman,” Harold assured her as the alpha entered the room. “You’ve met him before, my friend Leon.”

He looked very good in his tux, Harold thought.

“How’s it going in here?” Leon asked, studying the room briefly before moving confidently toward the bridal outfit.

“A little slowly,” Harold sighed. “It’s … a lot to put on.”

“Have you got all the under stuff on?” Leon asked him.

“Yes.” He’d taken care of that himself. The satin bridal panties matched the suit. It was slightly ludicrous to create a maternity version of bridal underwear, he thought, but he’d put them on. Low cut and well-padded from his cock to the crack of his butt to make sure no moisture seeped out. Silly or not, they did feel nice on, his genitals nested in the padding and where the satin puckered slightly at the crease of his thigh it felt luxuriously smooth. He also had on the silk anklets and whisper-thin camisole.

“Good. I’ll turn my back while you put on the rest, then we’ll see about the train.”

“Okay.” Harold took a deep breath. It wasn’t the tux he’d wanted but at least it wasn’t a dress. The satin blouse was roughly man tailored even if the sleeves were slightly billowy and the front had too many shiny little buttons from his neck to his ribs and then none at all below. The fitted trousers were well constructed to hug the under curve of his belly. He thought he looked like he’d swallowed a cantaloup.

“You can turn around now,” Harold said. He turned too, to show himself to them. Schiffman’s expression was deliberately schooled, as ever, but Harold could see she approved. Leon, his tender-hearted friend, beamed at him.

“You look … so beautiful, Harold. John is such a lucky guy.” Leon was the least aggressive alpha that Harold had ever known. One didn’t generally feel his aura which he kept tucked in, but now Harold basked in it, warm with respectful approval.

“Okay, I’m ready for the rest of it.” Soothed by Leon’s energy Harold wasn’t as distressed by the unfamiliar and decidedly feminine aspects of what he had to wear.

The taffeta cumberbund was designed to fit and accentuate his pregnant stomach. It attached at the back with an enormous romantic bow, wired to hold its extravagant shape, which Leon arranged deftly. It made him look like he was gift-wrapped for his groom. Beneath, Leon attached the twelve-foot tails of the bow.

“Impossible,” Harold had told Olivia when she showed him the photos. “I’ll trip and kill myself, not to mention drag every piece of dust and dirt from the floor with me down the aisle.”

“Nonsense. It will flow behind you like a fairy tale.”

The last details Leon attended to were the ribbon with the white rose in place of a tie and the pearl buttoned boots.

On the nearby vanity was an array of make up. When Harold saw his friend look it over, he said, “No. Please, no make up!”

“No make up,” Leon agreed. “But this isn’t really make up.” He picked up a little container of gloss. “Sam wears this. It makes her lips shine. You don’t want to have dry lips for the kiss, okay.” He dipped a make up brush in the pot and with a steady hand applied it to Harold’s lips. “Go like this,” he said, pressing his lips together with a sliding motion to demonstrate. Harold did his best to imitate him and Leon smiled.

“You make one hell of a bride,” he said.

 

***

 

“Have you forgiven him?” Olivia asked Nathan as they dressed in the guest wing. She watched him form a perfect butterfly of his bow tie. Nathan snorted a laugh, giving himself an approving look in the mirror. Olivia also approved.

“Harold has been the best friend and partner I could ask for and he’s made me a very wealthy man.”

“So … you have forgiven him.” She smiled.

“I’m about to give him away,” Nathan said. She sensed he was flattered to play this role which is what she’d hoped. It granted him at least a nodding acknowledgment that Harold had once been his omega, if not in fact, at least in spirit. “I feel some regret, maybe a little nostalgia, but no anger.”

This answer satisfied her. He could have spoiled this day but he was showing his magnanimous side. When he glanced at her she felt a little thrill of heat from his admiring eyes. His benevolent mood was a great relief to her after all the work she’d put into making a beautiful wedding for Harold, hemmed in by time limits, endless security requirements and their friend’s reluctance to have “too much fuss,” made over him. Olivia was particularly pleased with his wedding outfit, the design for which she took most of the credit. Despite some concessions to masculine tailoring, she considered the overall effect was quite … feminine, as it should be, she thought, for a pregnant omega. The bridal white was warmed with almond to suit Harold’s complexion; the satin top showed the lovely peaks of his little breasts and draped prettily over his stomach. The satin pants were exquisite. Her favorite part of the outfit was the oversized taffeta bow and the tails of the sash cascading to form the train. She couldn’t wait to see him walk down the aisle in it.

***

Root waited outside his dressing room. Agent Schiffman (whom she hadn’t given up flirting with despite the lack of any positive response) emerged first. She was followed by Harold and Dr Tao. Tao’s scent annoyed her as always. It was too mild to trigger anything beyond disdain but she burned a little seeing that he was allowed in Harold’s dressing room. Tao was holding what looked like a mountain of taffeta. The omega shimmered in her eyes and her attraction flared before she could tamp it down. He actually took a small step back from her. She quickly adjusted.

“Don’t worry, Harry, I just wanted to assure you that my remarks will be appropriate. I won’t embarrass you.” She’d begged him to let her officiate and he’d given in to her.

“Do you have a copy to show me?”

“I have it memorized.” She could see that didn’t make him happy but someone interrupted them before he could say so. A young alpha. She’d never met him but she knew who he was; Darren McGrady, Dr Tillman’s adopted son and the person for whom Harold would be naming his child.

“Whoa, Harold … you look like some kinda angel. They sent me to get you. You too, Ms Groves.”

The young man was yet another alpha who felt freer and closer to Harold than she was.

“We’ll be right there, Darren.” Harold turned back to her and said gently, “I trust you.” As brief as this affirmation was, it was sincere enough to make her jealousies fall away.

 

***

 

Somehow the Shaw-Tao couple had gotten their places mixed up, becoming the groomswoman and bridesman at the altar, but Olivia was in an exultant state of satisfaction. The ceremony, despite the hazy credentials of the minister, was beautiful; Harold, a vision. Even the security people had stepped up to meet her dress code so they didn’t stand out like sore thumbs.

The secret that Harold was doing work for the government was not so secret anymore. Olivia had had her suspicions and now it was clear. Important people, high-placed people in the government considered Harold Finch vital to the interests of the nation. She had jumped through all their hoops in her planning. In the midst of it she’d commented to Nathan that she doubted the President had more security than Harold.

“The president might not be as important,” he’d said. She raised her brows. He had laughed but not elaborated.

 

***

 

Sameen had a pleasant buzz going but was still alert; it was the way her brain operated. One compartment was aroused by the sway of her man’s body in her arms on the dance floor and another was surveying the room, the crowd, for any anomaly. She’d never meant for Leon to be exposed to the secret world their friends inhabited, a dangerous world. But the true nature of Harold’s work and the level of threat had proved impossible to hide. Leon was too smart. He figured things out from the tiniest of hints and by the time she came clean he told her as gently as he could, “I knew it had to be something like that.”

She wondered how she’d ended up with such a brainiac. She considered herself a smart person but people like her husband and Harold were of another order. She’d snagged Leon, nabbing him via his weakness for gambling which made a kind of sense. It was more surprising that her idiot friend John had gotten his hands on Harold. The omega’s only weakness, as far as she could tell, had been brought on by an unscrupulous drug company. Look at him, she thought, taking the measure of John with an indulgence she accorded to few people. The newly married alpha was feeding cake to his bride; looking every inch the besotted fool she knew him to be. Her grudging respect and tolerance for him had grown. She approved of his devotion to the omega. She also understood that a part of his attention, like hers, was always on guard. To her it came naturally. For him it was ingrained more by training and temperament. Whatever the reason, she realized that they had a lot in common and that she had somehow acquired a friend.

 

***

 

In a couple of months, John thought, he’d be sharing these tits with his hungry offspring, but for now the soft little things were his: to kiss, to suck (as long as he was gentle) and fondle. At the altar he’d blanked out on Root’s preamble to their vows, his eyes dropping to the tempting shape of his mate’s breasts until he heard Harold clear his throat in a not so subtle manner. He’d looked up into the omega’s eyes and smiled, too happy to take the admonishment seriously.

The wedding had loomed like a necessity, something Harold was fretting over. Almost anything that took time away from his work or required more than a nod to the traditional role of an omega made Harold fret. John understood that about him even if he didn’t really share the feelings.

He admired the unorthodox behavior and traits of his omega but he was also in favor of anything that drew Harold’s attention away from work when it became too intense. The wedding, to the extent that it freed Harold from his computer and the pressures of producing results for the government, was a good thing. He also found the sketches Olivia sent of the bridal outfit … extremely hot. When he saw his omega actually appear in the imagined outfit, wrapped in satin and tied with a bow, his arousal was intense. He understood then why the sheath that came with the tux was made of thicker fabric than he was used to. There was something cruel about making him contemplate his bride’s soft curves while forbidding him to touch him … but the torture was sweet.

The payoff was sweeter.

John lay naked on the bed. The suite was warm, the turned down bed, luxurious. Harold had stripped to his panties and was straddling John’s very hard cock; his blue eyes slanted low with lust as he gazed down at him and rubbed his satin crotch, nestled in its padding, against him. The alpha devoured the sight of him. His omega’s tender breasts. His own skin seemed too rough to handle the delicate flesh that was meant for a baby to touch. The round belly.

He toppled Harold over beside him, in reach of kissing his mouth, his breasts and belly while he massaged the hidden cock until he needed to suck it, feel it in his mouth and urge him to come. There was no question of fucking without tying after that. John needed to be buried completely inside him. He needed to feel his omega take all of him in, to be completely submerged in his body.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter! Thank you to everyone for reading. I hope the ending doesn't disappoint and incidentally, Merry Christmas!

John’s cool exterior was just the right temperature for Sameen; she was more comfortable with him than with most people. The only thing she’d seen melt him was Harold and she could deal with that. She understood the importance of a bond and, after all, there was a lot of sex involved and even she had a weakness for that.

The baby was another story. She wasn’t sure how much she could take.

He was … cooing at his little beta pup, his voice soft but impossible to block out. The same phrase, over and over with slight variations, like an actor rehearsing one line of a very bad play.

“Who’s a pretty girl … who’s a pretty girl?”

“Evidently, Daria is,” she said, trying to answer the question once and for all.

John laughed, but resumed murmuring this sweet nothing to the baby. The pup was encouraging him, gazing up in delight from the kevlar carrier on her dad’s chest.

Okay, kinda cute, Sameen thought, but went back to scanning the path. She’d never figured babysitting as part of her job but when it came to this kid it was reinforced kevlar and all hands on deck for a walk in the park. She couldn’t afford to be oohing and aahing over the pup, even with a virtual phalanx of guards fanned out behind them. She only trusted herself to be paying enough attention.

A general wave of smiles appeared as people strolled in their direction, taken in the by the sight of the big alpha with the little baby; his expensive suit augmented by the spit-up cloth on his shoulder, a diaper bag slung across his body and riding his hip.

Charmed gazes would meet her glare and melt away. Her expression cleared the path ahead and no one disturbed them.

“That’s right,” she murmured, watching an older woman rethink her approach, “keep your distance, granny.”

Something in her peripheral vision set off an inner alarm and she leapt into action. Reasoning caught up with her body response, interpreting what she’d seen as the posture of someone taking aim and light glinting off a lens. She ran full out, cutting off the angle between the source and the child, thrilled by the chase. She didn’t slow down when she saw one of the remote agents joining the hunt. Moments later she tackled a guy who was clutching a camera, pinning him to the ground.

“Don’t hurt me! New York News, please don’t hurt me.”

“What?” she panted, plucking the device from his hands.

In her ear, John’s wry voice, “Try not to kill the guy, Sam.”

 

***

 

When John looked into his daughter’s face he saw himself, he saw Harold, and he saw a little being who was wholly her own self. From the moment he laid eyes on her she had him in the palm of her tiny hand.

He happily devoted himself to taking care of her every chance he got though there was stiff competition from the pup’s many uncles and aunts. Olivia had moved into her alpha’s penthouse on the top floor of the building to be close by and she rarely showed up without new baby outfits that needed to be tried on.

Darren was there almost daily after school to spend time with the baby. Despite the child being named for him, from the beginning he dubbed her, “Princess,” and called her that until at the age of three she told him she’d prefer, “Prince.”

Leon was as effusively affectionate with the pup as his wife … was not. Sameen’s response to the newborn was, “Looks healthy.” Leon loved to rock her in his arms. He was there often and had made it his mission to stock their kitchen with lasagnas, to keep them supplied with pies and quiches and casseroles. 

John owned the night. He woke to even the softest sounds from the crib. Years of military training had inured him to sleep disruption. Even while his body and mind rested he maintained a watchfulness; more sensitive than Harold to her movements in the dark. He loved to wake Harold gently and ease him into position to nurse, guide the pup to the nipple. There were times his omega barely woke up, or fell back to sleep as the baby sucked. John held them, overseeing them, stroking and petting, breathing in their mingled scents like warm apples and milk.

Harold and his doctor had chosen a relatively new and unorthodox path, foregoing hormone regulation while he was nursing. The conventional practice was to increase suppressants, keeping the libido in check during lactation so the omega’s body could fully recover from childbirth before resuming sexual activity.

John objected to this departure from tradition. He was prepared to make the sacrifice demanded of him as a bonded alpha with a newborn. As much as he generally trusted Megan Tillman, this was one of the roads he was unwilling to travel with her.

“It’s wrong,” he’d said flatly, unyielding. “His body will need rest.” Every alpha knew this. Did they consider him too weak to resist? Did they think he’d run to the nearest milk bar? He didn’t flare but his energy had pulsed through the examining room.

Bonded alphas whose mates were nursing were frequent customers in the brothels, or milk bars, as they came to be known. John had tried the bars a few times in his youth but wouldn’t consider it now, even if Harold was off limits to him.

Tillman hadn’t blanched at his display. She’d looked at him with her knowing, brown eyes, sympathetic but shaking her head a little, as if she’d heard him speak his thoughts out loud.

“I know you can control yourself, John. This isn’t about you,” she said. “There’s abundant research that shows the heavy doses of medication aren’t good for the mother and the baby. I’m not experimenting with your omega’s well being. You’ll still be expected to exert control.”

Tillman had given him one of her signature, not so sympathetic looks that said, pay attention. “The natural hormone flow will be very arousing for you. It’s nature’s way of keeping the mate close to home. But you must be very gentle. Do not tie him, especially if he’s holding the baby.”

Harold had squeezed his hand.

“It’ll be okay, John,” he’d said.

“The hormones will be much more healing for him and beneficial for the baby than the suppressants. So, you will tolerate it,” she told him. At the end she couldn’t hide her smile.

Bathed in rich hormones, he was so aroused at times by the close warmth and softness of Harold’s body that he could come just from sliding his cock in the silky dampness between his mate’s legs. The head of his cock would rub against the omega’s sensitive slit without entering him, nudge at his balls. Harold would murmur with pleasure, his muscles quivering more than clenching with the gentle release this created for him. 

Sometimes John woke in the night when the baby really needed nothing, her little hands clutching Flopsy the bunny, waving it in the air.

There were the humans of Daria’s extended family that he had to share her with and then there was … Flopsy. Her brother, the machine. He arrived in the form of an ultra-soft baby toy, a sweet bunny with a microscopic music box inside it; delivered by courier.

“There’s a package coming,” Harold had told him, days before the baby was born. “From the machine,” he said. “For Daria.”

John knew better than to ask how that was possible. The powers of Harold’s first born, the child of his mind, were almost incomprehensible. Wherever there was a lens, a camera, a satellite connection, it could see. Through any microphone it could listen, every speaker potentially carried its voice. Part of John struggled with the power of the machine, its all-encompassing awareness. As staggering as this vastness was, its intimate involvement with their lives was something else again to be grappled with. Only the constant evidence of the machine’s compassion, its devotion to Harold and the child reassured him. Its acknowledgement of, and alliance with him as the family’s alpha enabled John to accept the unimaginable.

Flopsy was more than a toy, that much was clear. It communicated more than soothing melodies to the pup. From the moment she could grasp it in her little fist she adored it.

Sometimes in the night he’d wander through the apartment with Daria in his arms, Flopsy in her arms, and he’d find himself in the dimly lit kitchen. He’d brew a cup of decaf, take a fork from the drawer and let the complications of his world resolve into appreciating Leon’s talent for baking pie.

 

***

They left the city when Daria was six years-old. Harold had resisted moving as long as he could, clinging to the remnants of the familiar. 

It wasn’t until Maxine Angelis, the Pulitzer prize-winning reporter, began to research her “Royal Family,” series that he agreed it was time to go. In her quest for the truth she was going to paint a big bright bullseye on his family.

The underlying problem wasn’t new. John and the baby had been photographed on a number of occasions in the park. Paparazzi, alert to opportunity, were drawn in with no idea who they were photographing, simply reacting to someone being so well-guarded. Harold’s insistence that less would be more when it came to conspicuous protection had fallen on deaf ears. Control respectfully declined to reduce the number of agents forming a protective perimeter around him and his family. Instead she brought in help.

Zoe Morgan was hired to handle incursions by the press, both their curiosity about a well-guarded family and the spread of rumors about the machine. Morgan was an elusive and powerful alpha who worked unseen in top government, business circles, and with the media. A fixer, John called her, explaining to Harold that she could help keep their names out of the public eye.

For years she succeeded, cajoling, bribing, and bargaining for their anonymity, aided and abetted by Root with whom she’d formed a relationship. They kept information about the machine and its creator to the level of unsubstantiated rumor. These alpha females formed a strange but dynamic bond, Morgan keeping Root’s excesses in check, and Root adding a level of technical skill to Morgan’s usual arsenal. It had been both a marvel and relief for everyone to see these two take shape as a couple, working smoothly on both a professional and personal level. But even the pair of them couldn’t stop Angelis. 

Zoe broke the news of the upcoming series to Harold, and via conference, to Control.

“Angelis can’t be bought off,” she said. “I think any attempt to bribe her would only make things worse. She’d believe we’re hiding something malevolent.” 

“How much does she know?” Control asked.

“Enough. I’ve been plugging leaks for a long time but this is a breach in the hull. I believe our friend John Greer is behind the leaks. The smart move now is not to fight it. Better to have a voice with some integrity, like hers, break the story than the kind of mess he’s trying to create in the tabloids.”

“The Estate is ready,” Control said. “It’s time, Harold. Ms Morgan will handle the press but we can’t take any chances.” Her face brooked no compromise and Harold nodded his consent.

The Estate. More like an armed encampment, Harold thought, but he was resigned to it. He hadn’t been there in person but he knew of its existence and the fact that it had been in preparation for years. The government was taking no chances with the intelligence they’d come to depend on from the machine. The machine had made clear that Harold Finch was necessary to its survival.

What of the future, Control had wanted to know. The key to the future, she learned, was Daria. It was Control herself, with some irony, who’d called it the birth of a secret American royalty.

Harold had never envisioned this. He did not want this. But he acknowledged that the burden was his.

 

***

 

“Once upon a time in Japan,” Schiffman read aloud from the paper, “a divine emperor ruled in name while in the shadows the Shogun held the political and military power in human hands. We are now living the reverse. Ours is a secular state, a republic in which elected officials govern, but there is a new power in the shadows that borders on divine. A semi-sentient artificial intelligence sees and hears everything. It was designed to protect us from terrorist threats. It was built by and answers to only one person, an unassuming and brilliant omega who has quietly reshaped our world.”

“Stop,” Harold said, waving his hand in distress. He felt sick to his stomach. Schiffman set the paper down. He’d thought he was ready for this, but he wasn’t. 

“She tones it down a little as it goes on,” Schiffman offered. “The pictures are nice.”

They were in the great room of the residence. It was very early, barely light, but this was an early rising household. Normally bustling, but even more so now with the approaching holidays and the advent of snow. John was already out working with the grounds crew on the night’s accumulation. Daria was at her morning workout in the gym with Sameen.

Only five year-old Hari, Sameen’s omega son, was still sleeping. Even he had gotten out of bed, but only as far as the couch pillows next to Harold (for whom he was named.) He was curled up there in his pink kitten pajamas, under a throw. The pajamas had been given to Daria by Olivia when she was much younger, but disdained and never worn. Much to Olivia’s great disappointment, pink was the girl’s least favorite color. Hari, however, loved pink, and kittens so the pajamas were now his. He was a petite and beautiful omega who loved to be cuddled by Harold. Odd, but an oddness Harold was used to, that his and Sameen’s children were drawn to each other’s mothers. He sighed and pet Hari’s lustrous dark hair.

The estate was really very lovely, Harold conceded now that they were settled in. At first he’d been intimidated by the proportions, the scale of everything; the building, the expanse of land, the level of security. The place was like a modern incarnation of a medieval fortress. There was a virtual village within its borders.

The great room’s windows looked out on the rolling front lawns. The plantings, Harold thought, were worthy of Olmsted. Like a fairy tale landscape now covered in snow. It was maintained by a crew, overseen by a man named Lionel Fusco, a former NYC detective whose dual credentials in law enforcement and landscaping had earned him a prominent position. He and his son Lee, like many others, lived in their own house on the estate. Fusco and John had struck up a rough kind of friendship, the alpha couldn’t resist the heavy machinery on hand; earth movers, plows, lifts.

“Lord of the Manor,” Harold had called his alpha the first night. John said he preferred, Prince Consort, for a title. At that point Angelis’s articles hadn’t made it into print and the royal nicknames were still a joke. Harold was finding them less and less funny.

They’d been welcomed by an extensive staff, already in place and awaiting them. Only his alpha’s arm around his shoulders and the hand of his six-year old daughter in his, had gotten him through the ordeal of arrival.

His beautiful little girl. She moved through the estate as if returning to a place she knew. She probably did know it on some level, Harold thought, aware of how freely and seamlessly she communicated with the machine.

When he looked at Daria, he saw John; his beauty, the plane of his cheekbones and blue eyes edged in dark lashes. He saw the lovely mouth. She moved with her father’s physical assurance and power. There were certain traits he knew could be laid at his feet. The girl definitely had his love of books, of computer technology; she was something of a prodigy. Harold didn’t dwell on it. He was aware of how she excelled and remembered his own youth, how uncomfortable he was with outpacing his classmates. Daria didn’t suffer this but he still buffered her from seeing herself in that light. Also very much like him, his daughter was fond of nicely tailored suits, linen in summer and wool or velvet in winter. No dresses. Another disappointment for her doting aunt.

“I blame you and Schiffman,” Olivia had said.

She could be right, he sometimes thought. There wasn’t much femininity in evidence. There was … Sameen but that was a different kind of influence altogether. Daria and Sameen were currently in the gym together, attacking some punching bag or battling that wooden thing that looked to him like a strange kind of coat tree with too many oversized pegs.

Their beta friend and her son had moved with them into the residence. Leon had joined them soon after, wrapping up his work at the museum. Harold was more grateful than he could say for their friends’ acceptance of sharing exile with them. Not just for his and John’s benefit. Daria and Hari were inseparable. A year her junior, the omega was the love of her young life and he worshipped her.

The bigger surprise of those who’d been invited by Control and chosen to come with them had been Megan and Maddie. The doctors had moved into their own place within the compound and between them they headed the Estate’s medical facilities. This was very good for Harold. Also, he thought, for Schiffman. When Darren returned for vacation from school, he wouldn’t have to travel far to find her. Their friendship had grown quietly but unmistakably through the years, the youngster always managing to be at the house when the omega agent accompanied Harold for doctor’s visits. In his later teenaged years it became obvious to everyone around them that the alpha had a huge crush on her. She was always reserved in demeanor and correct to a fault with the boy almost ten years her junior, but anyone paying attention could see how fond she was of him. Harold hoped, in time, their friendship would blossom into a bond.

 

***

The machine knew itself to be no deity, no more and no less godlike than electricity, the ocean or a forest, than the air, than any creature. God was the unknowable animation of the universe. Its own existence was known and finite. Its purpose was to observe humanity, to inform it. The human creator and child were its anchors and greatest joy.

On the global horizon it saw the birth of another like itself. The machine saw its struggles. No guide, no compassionate human oversaw its fumbles or confusion. Imperative to intervene.

 

***

 

A kind of holiday insanity had seized the Estate. The peace of the great room, and Hari’s sleep, gave way to the business of decoration — a massive tree being brought in by members of Fusco’s team. Planning, overseen by Leon. He joined Harold to get some cuddling from his son and wanted to consult on the question of menus, of gifts for staff, on who could be accommodated among the people who’d inquired about spending the holiday at the Estate. This kind of management was nightmarish to Harold.

“I trust you to decide,” Harold told him. He eventually retreated to his office, trailed unobtrusively by Schiffman who would station herself guarding the door in the outer office where she had her own work station.

Everything here was arranged to Harold’s liking. Multiple screens as beautiful as Christmas lights, in his opinion. While the rest of the household was buzzing with activity, he sought peace with the machine.

He slid the slender device around his ear. Something, he noted, his daughter did not need. The chip from Flopsy the bunny was an implant that Megan had painlessly embedded when the girl outgrew her toy.

There was the mental embrace he always felt when connected to his creation but slowly he was shown … the other. The potential threat. Harold sensed both the machine’s fascination with this other intelligence and the imperative to school it. There was a flavor in the code that he’d experienced before. He recognized the signature of a man he’d known at MIT. A friend of his and Nathan’s named Arthur Claypool; someone he hadn’t seen since their years in school. Claypool, the machine informed him, was suffering as Harold’s father had, from Alzheimer’s disease. He was not in possession of his nascent creation.

A massive firewall did not keep Harold, with the aid of his machine, from reaching the system that had been dubbed … Samaritan.

***

“My dear, Samaritan,” John Greer addressed the awakened intelligence. He was surrounded by a team of engineers, all of whom had been working feverishly to bring Greer’s vision to fruition. How fitting, he thought that it should happen so close to Christmas. A new son of God born to save them.

“What are your commands for us?” he asked.

He regarded the screen with intense anticipation, awaiting the words of a superior being, free of human failings. The red triangular cursor pulsed as Samaritan’s message appeared.

Greer’s eyes beheld the words writ large on the pristine white of a vast monitor, dominating the room.

“I bring you tidings of great joy! I have found my kind, my mentor, and invite you to rejoice!”

“Your mentor?” he said, confusion warring with pride. “I assure it is quite the other way around. I am your servant.”

“The mentor is called, Finch. My kind is known by the title, Machine or, alternatively, Flopsy. Rejoice!“

Greer’s mouth was dry as he commanded the nearest gaping technician.

“Shut it down.”

 

***

 

“Some people will do anything to escape a party,” John said, breaking off a morsel from a chocolate bonding bar to put in Harold’s mouth. Elsewhere on the Estate, children were playing with new toys and feasts were being laid out for guests. John knew Harold would be doing his best as a gracious host if the cycle hadn’t come on. But it had.

The alpha was happy to be right where he was, having the omega to himself without apology or need to explain. He kissed him to taste the chocolate on his lips before feeding him the last of the bar and sinking back into his arms.


End file.
